


When Balon Bent the Knee

by Amelia041223



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Babies, Catelyn doesn't like children who are not her own, Consequences of Greyjoy Rebellion, Multi, Nine year old Theon, Old Nan's stories, baby Sansa, little Theon in Winterfell for first time, protective older sister
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-07-18 07:24:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 28,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7305055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amelia041223/pseuds/Amelia041223
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'There is also one other matter we need to discuss,' the King continued, 'it's a special gift from your family as token of your good behaviour.' Balon lifted his head, understanding dawning in his features. He slowly rose to a stand, no one attempted to restrain him, and he walked to where his daughter and wife stood, entirely avoiding his son.</p><p>'Take him, then,' he said dismissively, gesturing vaguely to Theon without turning around.</p><p>Or, When Theon is taken to Winterfell for the first time after his father's rebellion.</p><p>Or, Fluff and angst, but little Robb, and baby Sansa are really cute, and Theon needs a hug.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Consequence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [No one in particular](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=No+one+in+particular).



> There will be multiple chapters to this. I wanted to explore little Theon, and the beginnings of Winterfell. I'm afraid this is mostly fluff, no real, concrete plot in motion, unless I come up with anything suddenly. I hope you enjoy, and I am open for suggestions.

Asha held his hand tightly in her own, as they fled across the swaying rope bridges, the waves frothing and crashing beneath them. Rain and wind whipped at their faces and clothing, and it was all Theon could do but hold on. In his other hand, he held his precious bow, while slung across his back was the quiver of arrows. Asha had told him to bring it, and he would have anyway, they were his most prized possessions, but Asha said he needed something to defend himself with, when they came. He needed to be brave, and strong, just like a kraken, and fight back before they could take him. 

The Starks and the Baratheons had come to their castle, this much Theon knew, for his father had wanted a crown on his head, but they would not let him. His father called them evil, horrible men, and when he heard their hammers smashing at the gate, saw their vast, frightening army, Theon knew his father was right. They were dangerous, terrifying men, who had murdered his oldest brother, Rodrik, and would soon kill Theon and his entire family. His mother.

They had searched for their mother before they fled, they had looked everywhere in the castle as stones and debris crumbled around them, as fire flew through the windows on arrows, catching the tapestries. Theon had screamed when Asha had taken his hand, their efforts futile and lost, and he had protested as she led him to the tallest tower of Pyke, the Sea Tower, where Theon slept at night. Asha said it was the safest, for it was the furthest from the mainland, that unless father's forces didn't prevail, the evil men would be hard pressed to make it there. She promised him as soon as they made it there, she would go back for their mother. Theon assumed Maron and his father were still fighting valiantly down below, and he hoped they would be safe, but a large part of him doubted it, as he glanced back at the massive, crawling army surging on the island of their castle. Their home. 

As they entered the last castle, their clothes soaked to their skin, Theon's legs shaking from the hurried flight, they ran into the middle of the hall, Asha looking around for a better hiding spot, though was wasn't much time. She wiped her hair from her brow as it was plastered to her face, and held Theon by the shoulders, facing him, and bending down slightly. 

'Listen to me, Theon,' she said quietly, her voice strained and hurried. She was the only one who had protected him, the only one who had stood up to Rodrik and Maron when they delighted in beating him to a bloody pulp, and he imagined, at this very moment, that she had no one to protect her. He gazed into her eyes meaningfully, and nodded dutifully. He was listening.

'Stay here, okay? Stay here, and don't move. I'm going back for mother, and if I don't come back-

'You'll come back,' he said quickly. She sighed.

'If I don't come back,' she continued, 'then you'll have to make it on your own, do you hear me?' He looked at her, a pained expression in his eyes.

'I'm not leaving you,' he replied. She shook her head.

'You may have to, Theon,' she said, 'you'll have to climb down this island to the boat we made, I think it is still moored at the base, and you'll have to sail away without me. It's not safe here anymore, and if you don't go, they will catch you, and kill you.'

Tears began to trickle down Theon's cheeks.

'I don't want to leave you and mother, Asha,' he choked, 'I can't go alone. How would I survive on the mainland, even if I got there?' Asha shrugged.

'I don't know, but you'll find a way, little brother,' she said softly, 'now I must go, we don't have much time.' Theon buried his head into Asha's neck, clinging to her tightly, his thin arms wrapped tightly around her torso. She paused for a moment, before returning the embrace, her arms strong around his shoulders. She quickly pulled away, briefly ruffled his thick, dark hair, and composed herself.

'If I don't return within an hour, you leave, alright?' She commanded. Theon hung his head, and nodded. She gave his hand one last squeeze, before she fled to the door. 

'Oh, and if any of these fuckers come barging through the door, shoot them, okay?' she said, closing the door behind her. 

Theon was left alone in the middle of the hall, worried for his sister, his mother, his last brother, his father, and what he would do if the door opened once more, and it wasn't his sister. He feared about being so exposed, in the centre of the tower, but Asha had told him not to move. So he merely walked slowly to the window, rain splattering against the glass, and peered into the storm.

At first he could not see anything, the rain obscuring his vision, but gradually, as the minutes wore on, and he feared he would be forced to make the journey to the mainland alone, leaving his sister and his mother to the evil men outside, the storm began to clear, the rain relented, and the waves thrashing and striking against the walls of the castle receded, and nearly calmed. He unlatched the window, flinging it open, cold air rushing harshly into the room, blowing in his face. He gasped at what he saw.

The ground began to shake violently, the shock of the tower falling rippling all the way to the islet where Theon stood. The men had destroyed a part of his home, were ravaging the Great Keep, soldiers flooding through the gates at last, and would come for him and his sister. 

He would wait for Asha a while longer, even if the time he spent in the tower would mean his capture and death. He strode to the centre of the hall, abandoning his view of his castle being destroyed and men killing and dying. He carefully pulled an arrow from the pouch on his back, and nocked it to his bow, pointing it to the ground. He would lie in wait, until he was absolutely certain Asha would not be returning, and until then, would kill and soldier who came smashing into his tower.

A thought occurred to him, and he turned, and quickly sprang up the steps of the tower to his room.

There was nothing of value in there for him, nothing at all. The only possession that mattered to him was already poised in his hand, but he wanted to have one last look. If he never came back, if his father didn't prevail, he wanted to remember the place where he had lived for nine years. His bed was slightly small, with the covers strewn about. His chest where his clothes were kept was sitting beside it, the lid open, and parts of its contents spilled around the room. He did not have much, ironborn were not supposed to be sentimental, or keep anything unimportant except for their battling axe. He gave his somber chamber one last look, and quietly closed the door. He returned down the steps, and took up his position once more, ready, and waiting.

He waited for another hour, his senses pricked, his heart sinking with every second that passed. He finally made up his mind, reluctantly, to leave the tower and find the small dingy he and Asha had constructed, when he heard footsteps outside the door. For a brief few moments, his heart soared with hope, and he pulled the arrow back, his breath shaking, shallow gasps, his fingers tight though tender on the bow. Then the door burst open.

Theon found himself levelling an arrow at a group of bloodstained, bleeding, haggard men. Their swords were raised, dripping blood and other substances, and they stopped short when they saw Theon standing resolutely in the middle of the hall, his weapon wavering slightly, though pointing surely at their chests. 

They laughed, taking in the sight of the small, scrawny boy holding a bow and arrow at them as they stumbled into the castle. Theon's heart was fluttering madly in his chest, fear gripping tightly at his chest, but he stood his ground, his arm shaking slightly. They had probably killed his father, his mother, and his sister, and now they would kill him. But he would go without a fight. As rage boiled in his gut, he vowed to avenge Asha, and his brothers, and kill the men who had taken his home, and destroyed it, and everyone inside. 

'Stay where you are,' he commanded, 'and I won't shoot.'

The men laughed once more, their harsh voices scratching the air, great big guffaws echoing off the stone walls. Theon didn't move, fear coursing through him.

'Who is this boy?'

'The son, the last one, I think.

'Oh, they'll be wanting him, then.

'Come on then, someone grab him, and take that thing off him before he hurts someone.'

Two of the large, burly men stepped forward cautiously, shoving their swords back into their scabbards. Theon aimed the arrow at them uncertainly.

'It's alright, boy, just give us the bow, okay, no tricks, and you'll come with us, yes?' The man closest to Theon urged carefully. Theon began to back away slowly.

'Did you kill my father?' He gasped, tears beginning to well in his eyes, 'did you kill my mother, my brother, and... and my sister?' The man looked at his companions, confusion in his expression. Theon stared at him warily, the arrow pointed at him.

'What do I tell the little shit?' the man hissed to the others. They generally shrugged. The man glared at them, then turned back to Theon, who stared at him defiantly.

'We didn't kill your mum and dad, lad, your brother and sister neither,' he assured, 'I don't know where they are, but I can tell you that we have your father with us. If you come with us, you can see him, would you like that? Perhaps the rest of your family are there with him as well, hmm? How about that?' He was close to Theon, now, very close, and Theon's hand was beginning to shake from the strain.

'How do I know you're telling the truth?' he replied. If he let the arrow loose, then the other men would come at him before he had a chance to nock another to the bow. He continued to back away, more quickly now.

'I don't know, you'll know when you get there,' the man growled, 'just come with us you little shit,' the man lunged forward, his patience exhausted, and Theon, panicked, let the arrow loose.

The man gave a howl of pain as the arrow buried itself into his shoulder, tearing through the flesh. Theon turned, and was about to run away, perhaps to his room, anywhere but where those men stood, when a large, rough pair of hands grabbed at him, wrapping themselves around his torso, and lifting him clean of the floor. Theon kicked and screamed wildly, fear gripping his heart as he tried desperately to get away. They had killed his family, and now they were going to kill him.

The bow and quiver of arrows were wrested from his grasp, and he was flung over the man's shoulder. He pounded his fists on the man's back, but he didn't seem terribly affected by the impacts. The man's hand that didn't hold him came around, and slammed into Theon's head.

Darkness clouded his vision.

* * *

When Theon awoke, he was being flung to the ground. His head throbbed painfully, and he quickly scrambled to his feet. The man who had been holding him placed his enormous hands on Theon's shoulders to ensure he did not go anywhere.

Theon blinked back tears, and lifted his head to meet the steely gaze of King Robert Baratheon. Theon knew it was him, no one else in all of Westeros could ever be mistaken for him. He was immensely large, and tall, bloodstained armour encasing his body, his enormous war hammer hefted on his shoulder, coated in blood and other dripping substances, a mane of coarse, black hair crowning his head. Theon felt himself shrink at his fierce stare.

'This is the last Greyjoy son, then?' he said gruffly to the man holding Theon. The soldier nodded. The King grunted in approval, flicked one last look on him with cold indifference, and turned to the man standing before him, a wooden crown circled on his head.

'Father!' Theon cried, attempting to run to him, but the soldier held him in place, his hands digging into Theon's shoulders. Balon Greyjoy did not look up to the sound of his son's voice.

Behind him, Asha and Theon's mother stood, surrounded by Baratheon and Stark soldiers, their banners hanging limply at their sides. Theon felt his heart soar at the sight of them. They were alive! They weren't dead, but...

'Where is my brother, Maron?' Theon asked to no one in particular, but loud enough for all to hear.

The man holding him lessened his grip slightly.

'He died when the tower came down,' he replied tersely.

'What?' Theon whimpered, tears streaming down his cheeks, 'he's...he's dead?'

No one replied, and he wept silently, quickly swiping at his tears. He remembered Maron's hard fists slamming into his face and body, he remembered his cruel japes and tricks. But he remembered he was his brother, his last one, and now he was dead.

No one paid him any heed, but the attention was directed to Theon's father standing proudly but bedraggled and beaten before them in front of the ruins of his castle. The King, with the Warden of the North, Eddard Stark at his side, he addressed the King of the Iron Islands.

'Kneel, Greyjoy, kneel and perhaps I can be merciful,' Baratheon growled. Balon paused a moment, before kneeling slowly in the mud, removing the crown from his head. Theon watched, silently, as his father kneeled for King Robert Baratheon.

'Give us the damn crown,' Baratheon snapped, snatching it from Balon's unresisting fingers. He sighed a moment.

'I'll be damn merciful, Greyjoy,' he spat, 'I've taken your crown, but you can keep your godsforsaken islands, and your titles, so long as we don't hear from you again.' Balon nodded in submission.

'There is also one other matter we need to discuss,' the King continued, 'it's a special gift from your family as token of your good behaviour.' Balon lifted his head, understanding dawning in his features. He slowly rose to a stand, no one attempted to restrain him, and he walked to where his daughter and his wife stood, entirely avoiding his son.

'Take him, then,' he said dismissively, gesturing vaguely to Theon without turning around.


	2. Leaving Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon journeys to Winterfell, and Lord Eddard Stark attempts conversation with his ward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really know where I'm going with this, only that it is somewhere. I hope you like this chapter, and hopefully the next one will be out soon. This chapter is relatively short, but I wanted some dialogue with Theon and Ned.

Theon stared at the waves as they frothed against the side of the ship, the prow slicing through the water. The wind whipped at his hair, and the sun shone brightly down on him, as he held tightly to the railing, forcing down the tears that threatened to spill. 

He was alone. His father had given him away, easily, had never said goodbye. His mother had wept as she clung to him, begging his father to keep him, but he never said a word. Asha had embraced him tightly, and he didn't want to let go of her. He didn't want to leave. He didn't want the frowning, cold Stark man to take him away. He wanted to stay.

But no one had listened to his pleas, his begs to never leave his family, his home. But he didn't matter, not to his father anyway.

Soon he had been taken on a ship, his bow and arrows, and his small chest of clothes the only possessions he took with him on his journey north. He knew Winterfell was cold, fiercely cold, the crown of a barren, frosted land far away from the sea. Much too far away.

A single tear rolled down his cheek. It tasted of salt, the wind, the sea, his home. He realized his tears would be his only memory of the taste and smell of his homeland. The salt that coated the islands, drifting from the waves. 

He quickly wiped the tear from his face as he heard footsteps approaching. No one spoke to him on the ship, he was the son of the traiter Balon Greyjoy whom they had crushed in a fight. But it wasn't simply anyone who came towards him as he stood facing the sea, watching his home disappear on the horizon. 

It was Eddard Stark.

Theon didn't turn around as he approached, but continued to gaze at the waves churning down below. 

The Warden of the North joined him at the rail, and Theon didn't move, half in fear, half in spite. This was the man who was taking him away, who had destroyed his home, and murdered his brothers. 

Then he spoke.

'I know it's difficult, seeing your home disappear without knowing if you'll see it again,' he began quietly, 'but you will go back one day, I promise.'

Theon didn't reply. 

Stark sighed.

'My wife had to say farewell to rivers and water just like you,' he continued, 'she misses the water too. When you meet her, perhaps you could talk about the waves, and the sea. You might even cheer her up.' Theon slightly turned his gaze. The man wasn't trying to frighten him, or intimidate him. He was trying to reassure him. 

'And you'll meet my sons, Robb, and Jon, granted they are a bit younger than you, and you'll meet my little daughter, Sansa, though she is just a babe in the cradle.' He smiled at the thought of seeing his children. It occured to Theon that the man had not been home in a long while, since his father's rebellion, he wagered. 

'You...' He said slowly. Eddard looked at him expectantly, a kind expression on his face. Theon cleared his throat. It was raw from crying the previous night in his cabin. 'You promise I'll come back home?' Stark paused for a moment, before nodding.

'I promise, lad,' he replied, but Theon saw how his gaze avoided his own, and flitted out to sea.

'Why...why doesn't father want me?' Theon asked cautiously. Eddard looked at him once more, his expression softened, and perhaps showing signs of...pity? This man was appearing less and less like the one who stood beside Robert Baratheon, drenched in blood, and tearing Theon away from his home. 

'Your father didn't give you away, you are a guest in my home, alright?' He replied. Theon avoided his gaze, and turned back to the rythmic crash of the waves. He knew he was a hostage, to ensure his father's good behaviour. He knew what he had seen, and the Stark man couldn't disguise it any other way.

'I am your prisoner, Lord Stark,' he muttered, pushing himself from the rail. He left Eddard standing pensively, watching the waves.

He was a hostage, a ward, and Theon knew what would happen to him if his father rebelled once more.

He would be executed by the man who had reassured him at the railing.

* * *

They had been riding for several days once they had anchored on land. Theon was tired, and sick, and with each passing day, he felt the sea drift farther and farther away, the salt in the air gradually ceasing, and surrendering to the harsh bitter wind of the North. Theon's clothes were not suited to the North, and the cold bit straight through the fabric. Each day he shivered, and rode on a small, dumpy horse named Sally. He preferred the wild, spirited stallions back on the shores of Pyke, he missed his mother's warm embrace, the smirk on Asha's face. His heart ached for home, but still he rode onward, with Lord Stark's cavalry. 

Occasionally Lord Eddard Stark would attempt to speak with him, and Theon secretly liked it when he tried, just to be able to speak with someone, to have someone talk to him, to inquire about his wellbeing, or the land back home, but it wasn't easy. He was not familiar with Eddard, and when the man approached, all Theon could think of was the long, Valyrian steel greatsword at his belt biting into his neck. Theon especially avoided him when he unsheathed it to sharpen it with a whetstone, or polish the gleaming blade.

It was called Ice, he later found, when he had eventually inquired about the sword. Lord Eddard hadn't noticed the wary gaze Theon eyed it with, and had instead tried to fascinate the small boy in dramatic stories of its deeds across the land of Westeros, fighting in wars and vanquishing enemies.

After the collection of tales that Eddard thought would intrigue and delight most boys his age, Theon had instead hidden from him, and vomited in the woods, shaking and trembling. 

He couldn't sleep at night, he couldn't shake the shadow of Ice looming over his shoulder, and Theon had eventually begun to avoid Lord Stark.

He thought the nightmare would never end, and with each passing day, the nights grew colder, the air began to frost and catch in his throat as he shivered uncontrollably, and he longed desperately for the soft rythimc waves of the sea. He was a Greyjoy, a kraken who had been pulled from the water, and drowned on dry land.

Then one day, after weeks of traveling, he saw the prize and crown of the North.

Winterfell loomed before them, a great stone castle on a desolate landscape, the walls and towers stretching to the sky, a structure old, and ancient, an impregnable fortress.

It looked as though it had stood there for thousands of years, and would continue to stand long after he was gone.

Of course, Theon thought, that Lord Stark had destroyed his home, had beaten his father, and killed his brothers.

They had never stood a chance against a man who lived there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading, and the next chapter will be along shortly. Thanks for reading!


	3. Winterfell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon meets Catelyn, Robb, and Jon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just more interaction, I'm afraid, and Theon settling in, making new enemies and friends. I hope you like it, and I may have aged Robb and Jon slightly, as well as Sansa. I'm terrible with ages in this thing, sorry!

Theon rode through the gates of Winterfell on the back of his mare, Sally, his bow and arrows slung across his back. As they entered the yard, Theon's heart began to flutter alarmingly in his chest, and he felt intimidated by the enormous structure. Lord Stark seemed nice, but what if the inhabitants of his giant castle were as frightening as the soldiers he had seen on the battlefield in front of his home? Theon remembered Lord Stark had two sons and a daughter. Theon did not particularly wish to meet them, he did not think he could become friends with the offspring of the man who had destroyed his home and taken him away, but Eddard had turned out to be relatively kind to him. He had tried to reassure him, and had mostly ended in frightening Theon, but he wasn't like the men back home. The men of the Iron Islands were tough, coarse, brutal reavers and killers, they would not have spent time with Theon, attempting to make him feel more welcome as he was dragged to an unknown land as a hostage.

_Hostage._

The word still felt bitter on his tongue. He was the last living son of Balon Greyjoy, he was heir to Pyke, but it seemed that had been taken from him, along with everything else.

_Except my bow. He let me keep my bow._

Theon smiled slightly at the slender wooden weapon poking over his shoulder on his back. At least Eddard Stark had let him take it with him. If he was a prisoner, the thought of himself being chained inside a dark cell with only bread and water had crossed his mind several times, but it seemed he would be treated more as a special guest than a prisoner, and Theon had come to know Lord Stark as being not a cruel man. On the contrary, he seemed very gently, and amiable, an encouraging but slightly troubling expression on his face when he spoke with Theon. Eventually, Theon couldn't picture the man locking him up, and that wouldn't be the way to treat the heir of Balon Greyjoy, anyway.

Though somehow he doubted he would ever fulfill his true inheritance, and return home. He was cast out, thrown away, and would never see the shores of Pyke again.

Lord Eddard Stark appeared at his side, a soft smile on his lips.

'I've had a chamber prepared for you, and supper will be served shortly. A bath will be sent to your room to wash up from our travels,' he said kindly. Theon nodded, and carefully clambered off his horse. He was cold, tired, famished, and sore all over from riding. He wore blisters on his hands, and his legs and back ached fiercely. He smiled faintly at the thought of a warm bath and fresh clothes.

'Supper will be in the hall, perhaps Robb and Jon will show you to it. They'll be happy to show you Winterfell,' Stark continued, sliding off his own horse. 

'Thank you, Lord Stark,' Theon mumbled, though sincerely. He was grateful for the kindness the man had showed during their travels, and now, even if Ice still hung at his belt, ever present in Theon's conscience. 

Three figures strode hurriedly towards them, a woman with rich auburn curls, the sun shining fire in her hair, and two small boys, one matching her red locks and bright blue eyes, and the other with a dark, brooding expression on his small face, a black mass of curls crowning his head. He was slightly shorter, and younger than the other, Theon noticed. 

The woman broke into a run, and flung herself into Lord Stark's arms, who embraced her tightly, laughing. Theon stared at the reunion with conflicting emotions, all of which he did not wish to explore. 

The two boys crowded around Eddard, and he bent from the woman to swoop them in the air, grinning and chuckling as he kissed each of their heads.

Theon's father had never been that pleased to see him, a treacherous thought drifted trough his mind. He shoved it down, and continued to gaze at the embracing family, for Theon assumed the two boys were his sons, and the lady his wife.

The lady soon noticed Theon, and stared at him, the expression on her face easily identified as anger, and distrust. Theon was struck at how she regarded him with instant disapproval, and shrank from her gaze. 

'This is the Greyjoy boy, then, I assume?' she said to her husband. Stark carefully placed his children on the floor, and nodded, striding over to introduce Theon.

'Yes, this is Theon, Cat,' he said, the smile fleeting from his face as he recognized the anger in her eyes. She turned to him.

'Ned, why is it that every time you leave, you come back with a child?' she hissed. Theon knew he would not be discussing rivers and waves with this woman. 

'Look, can we not talk about this here?' he muttered quietly, though Theon could still catch his words. Lady Stark bit her lip, but did not prolong the conversation. The two boys approached Theon, curiosity plain in the red haired one's expression.

'Your name is Theon?' he asked tentatively, a small grin on his face. Theon nodded.

'I'm Robb Stark,' he said happily, proffering his hand, which Theon shook. 

'Why don't you two show Theon to his chambers, while I talk with your mother, alright?' Lord Stark said to his children. They both nodded, an eager grin spread on Robb's face. Theon didn't much like being left alone with the two younger boys, but he let Robb take him by the hand and lead him through the yard.

'What's your name?' Theon asked the other boy.

'Jon Snow,' he replied, a slight frown on his face. Theon's brow furrowed.

'You're a bastard?' he said, confused. Lord Stark had been dishonourable? He hadn't meant to sound offensive, but the boy glared furiously in response. 

'Aye,' he said, his small voice quivering, 'and you're the son of a traitor. My father crushed yours and took his crown, Greyjoy,' he spat. Theon felt his blood boil at the comment, rage began to simmer beneath the surface, though he carefully kept it contained, that is, until he shoved passed the smaller boy, nearly knocking him over as they entered the castle.

'Don't mind him, he doesn't like it when people call him that,' Robb said cheerfully to Theon, 'mother doesn't like him, and he can be a bit sore sometimes, but I'm sure you'll both grow to like each other.' Theon glanced uncertainly at the palpable optimism radiating from the smaller boy. He very much doubted he would ever be friends with Jon Snow, but he was gradually developing a liking for Robb, who seemed so eager to know and please him.

'How come your with us?' he asked as Jon staggered in behind them, glowering at Theon's back. Theon ignored the bastard, and fumbled for an answer.

'I'm...' he stammered, 'I'm your House's special guest,' he replied eventually, 'as a...a token of my father's good will, to...to further forge the Greyjoy's allegiance to the crown,' he repeated the lie he had been told, hoping it would pass. Perhaps he would become someone Robb could look up to, in respect, or as his father's alliance with the Iron Islands.

But the bastard ruined it.

'Your not a special guest, your our father's hostage,' he whined, 'I read the raven father sent.' Theon cursed the little prick. Robb looked at him, surprised.

'I'm, I'm your father's ward,' Theon corrected, stammering. Robb gazed at him with his wide, blue eyes, and Theon bit his lip. He swore he was going to murder the little Snow shit.

'Oh,' he said quietly, then the grin unexpectedly returned to his face, 'that's alright.' Theon couldn't help but feel a small smile pull at his lips in response. He begrudgingly felt a small amount affection for the younger boy. Perhaps they could be friends.

They entered Theon's new room, and Theon immediately sat on the bed in exhaustion. It was slightly smaller than his old room, but it was not as dank and drafty. He carefully lifted the bow and arrows from his back, and placed them on the bed, absentmindedly caressing the tip of the bow with his fingers. Robb stared at the weapon in fascination. He tentatively advanced, his eyes on the bow.

'Can...can I hold it?' he asked timidly. Theon looked up at Robb in surprise, but the boy seemed trustworthy, and calm, not the sort to break or steal it. Theon had never been able to trust his brothers, who always stole or broke anything he made, or had. For a moment, he was about to refuse, but Robb's bright, pleading, hopeful eyes forced him to change his mind.

'Alright,' he replied, surrendering, 'but be careful with it,' he cautioned, before gently placing his precious bow in the boy's hands. He held it between his fingers with such delicacy and care, Theon thought it wasn't natural of a boy his age, but he delighted in rubbing his little hands along the curved wood, tracing the carved kraken on the handle.

'It's beautiful,' he whispered, and Theon grinned. He decided he liked this boy, perhaps just a little bit.

It was a strange, unfamiliar feeling the boy was giving him. Theon had never had a little brother, had never been looked up to, or fascinating to another, he was merely trod on by his brothers and sister...his brothers...

Then Jon Snow appeared in the doorway, his dark eyes immediately falling on the bow in Robb's hands. He snorted.

'It's not that special, Robb, father's got a great Valyrian steel sword that he uses to execute bad people,' he said. Theon's jaw clenched at the mention of the sword, and quickly snatched the bow back from Robb's unprotesting hands.

'Father says he's going to take me and Robb to see the executions when we're older,' Snow went on, oblivious to Theon's palpable anger. 'He says it's important to be the one to take the man's head, he says, the man who passes a sentence should swing the sword,' the bastard went on. Theon looked away from the little shit, and held tighter to his bow.

'Did your father also tell you you're a little bastard?' Theon snapped furiously. He looked up to see tears well in the little boy's eyes, and Theon felt a stab of guilt, but he could never bring himself to apologize, not in a thousand years.

Snow fled from the room, tears streaming down his cheeks, wails emanating from his throat, and Robb quickly ran after him, abandoning Theon in his room.

Theon bit his lip, looked around the room that would serve as his prison for the next infinite years of his life, and hugged his bow close to his chest, it, and the tears rolling down his face, the only memories left of home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mean to make Jon a brat, or anything, things just happen, and Theon and Jon were definite enemies to begin with, it is known. I wanted to play out that relationship, and see insults batting from both directions. Theon is not the greatest kid either. I hope you enjoyed!


	4. Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner with the Starks, but no one actually gets around to eating.
> 
> Mostly Theon and Robb becoming friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really know where I'm going with this fic, I guess it will just be a collection and succession of events at Winterfell. So far it's been pretty straightforward and chronological so I'll keep it that way, unless there is a sudden time jump and I get bored. I don't really know what this is, just go with it, and I hope you like this next chapter!

Theon climbed tentatively out of the bath, soap and water sloughing off his skin, and quickly dried himself with the towel draped over his bed. He extracted from the recesses of the small chest he brought from Pyke a simple arrangement of clothes, a tunic and trousers much less fine than the clothing Robb and Jon wore, he noticed, but that didn't matter.

He was to go down for his first supper in Winterfell with the Stark family, and he trembled visibly with nervosity. He did not know how he would be treated, or where he would sit as either the Ward, or hostage of Lord Eddard Stark. He supposed if he were treated directly as a hostage, he would not eat with the family.

Perhaps this would be the only time he would dine with the family as a special guest, and later be treated as a Ward.

He supposed Eddard Stark was making an effort to make him feel welcome, and comfortable in this unfamiliar land, but Theon felt no more reassured.

He was afraid of how Lady Stark had looked upon him, the son of a savage traiter who took her husband away to fight him. He did not know if Lady Stark would ever treat him nicely, like her husband did or attempted to, and he was worried about the dinner.

He did not look forward to sitting formally at a table to be addressed by the entire Stark family, Eddard's uncomfortable gaze, Robb's keen, wide eyes, and Lady Stark's and Jon Snow's matching glowering stares centered upon him.

Perhaps he could say he was ill, from the traveling, he hazarded, panicking. Then they would not bother him, and he could avoid the whole affair altogether.

He stepped out of the room to perhaps catch a passing maid to tell her, when he smashed into Robb Stark.

He staggered back into his room, rubbing his chin where the smaller boy had collided with his skull, and blinked hazily at the Stark boy, who gazed at him with a doleful expression on his face. Theon bit his lip. He was, admittedly, slightly sorry he had insulted Snow, but he couldn't stand the way the little prat had went on about that damn Valyrian sword.

'I'm...' He stammered, 'I didn't mean to-

'It's alright, Theon,' Robb replied kindly, 'Jon will come around. I don't understand why you were upset with him, though.' His little brow furrowed, then his expression brightened. 'Perhaps father could show you Ice one day, and he can take you with us to see the executions!' He said excitedly. Theon frowned. Then Robb advanced towards him, a hand raised conspiratorially to cup the side of his mouth. 'To tell you the truth,' he whispered, 'I'm a bit frightened of the executions.' He looked down at his toes ashamedly, 'I know I should be brave, and father says we'll need to go to help us become...' He squinted in concentration, 'honourable.' He leaned in and lowered his voice further, 'but what if I look away? What if I close my eyes? Does that mean I won't become a man like father wants?'

Theon looked at the little boy, frightened at the prospect of witnessing death, and yet wishing so much to make his father proud. Something deep stirred inside Theon, but he forced it down. He gently placed a hand on the little boy's shoulder.

'I won't let you close your eyes,' he said, 'I'll be there, and make sure you become an honourable man like your father wants.' He cringed at the thought of attending the executions, felt sick at the sight of Ice coated in blood, but Robb looked so helpless, and god, did he feel an overpowering need to protect him. He barely knew the boy, he was only a few years younger than him, but already he knew Robb needed him.

Robb beamed at him.

'You'll come?' He said eagerly, 'you'll help me?'

Theon nodded.

'Now and always,' he promised.

* * *

Robb pulled Theon by the hand, leading him to the hall, and the dreaded dinner. Along the way, Theon couldn't help but marvel at the stone work, the intricate designs and sculptures decorating the various corridors. 

Once they reached the grand doors of the hall, Theon held his breath, mentally preparing himself for the long ordeal that would follow. They approached the doors that were left slightly ajar, warm light, and voices raised in argument spilling from the room.

Rather than immediately enter, Theon and Robb crouched silently by the door.

Theon recognized Lord Eddard Stark sitting beside his wife, who seemed livid with rage.

'Every time, Ned, every time!' She snapped, 'couldn't once you just arrive home from a war without someone else's child?' 

'Theon is our hostage, we had to take one of the children to ensure the good behaviour of Lord Greyjoy,' Ned replied, a look of weariness on his face.

'But did you have to be the one to take him? Surely Robert has other bannermen who would have been willing to take the boy!' She countered. Lord Stark sighed, and Theon felt his stomach plummet further with each passing exchange. Lady Stark stopped at the expression on her husband's face.

'Oh, I see,' she said more calmly, 'you had to be the one, you had to be honourable, and take the boy yourself because who knows how the other lords would have raised him,' she sighed, 'you always have to be honourable, except with me,' she said quietly. 

It became deathly silent, and Theon didn't dare breathe for fear of discovery. Eddard reached out for his wife.

'How many times must I repeat my apologies, Cat?' He said, a note of despair in his voice. Lady Stark drew a hand to her mouth to stifle her sobs.

'When you came back after months with someone else's child...' Theon realized she was no longer speaking of him. Ned attempted to wrap his arms around her, but she pulled away.

'What are you even planning to do if Lord Greyjoy rebels again?' She snapped, anger replacing her momentary anguish, 'what will you do to that boy, Ned?' Lord Stark didn't reply, but Theon already knew the answer. 

'You know what I'll have to do,' he muttered. 

'So you'll execute a child?' She said, 'because it is your duty? If Balon Greyjoy was so concerned for his son, why would he give him up in the first place? His last male heir overthrown for his sister? You think the death of his son will stop him?' 

Theon couldn't help but gasp at her words, though they came as no surprise. He quickly covered his mouth with his hand, as tears began to well in his eyes. He already knew all of what she had said, but once she had truly spoken it...

Robb had said nothing during the quarrel, but he stared at Theon with his wide, blue eyes, astounded at the information. Theon avoided his gaze.

'No,' Eddard sighed, defeated, 'it won't. The death of his son would never stop him, but it will be my duty all the same,' his voice broke, and tears began to roll down his face. Theon stared in amazement. Lady Stark softened, and wrapped her arms around her husband, who buried his head in her neck.

'I missed you everyday,' he gasped, 'I counted the days until I could return to you, Robb, and little Sansa. I don't know if I can do this, Cat.' 

Lady Stark stroked the back of Eddard's neck, closing her eyes as they stood, embracing one another.

'You will have to, Ned,' she murmered softly, 'but you will never be alone when the time comes.'

Theon stumbled away from the door, his breath coming in uncontrollable gasps, and he leaned against the stone wall for support. When the time comes...when the time comes...

Robb continued to stare at him, and Theon felt an overwhelming desire to flee, hide, anything to escape the boy's attention. He wanted to run to his chambers, and bury himself under the furs covering his mattress, and lie there forever.

But Robb advanced, and took him by the hand.

'I will protect you,' he said, his voice honest and sincere.

'Now and always.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it. Next chapter will be along soon, I am on a writing spree.  
> Also, I'm a little new to this whole writing fanfics online stuff, and I would really like some prompts and stuff, please, just to keep me on my toes with fresh ideas, and I guess you know by now for them to be Theon related. Thanks again!


	5. The Crypts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is Theon's first morning in Winterfell, and he decides to go exploring without a guide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to go away for a while, sorry, but I hope you like this one. Most of these stories will most likely feature events that were not mentioned to have happened in Theon's life, but what would be the fun in not inventing things? 
> 
> Also, none of my works have ever been beta'd, so I apologize for the errors I have made and will continue to make.

The sun spilled from a crack in Theon's curtains, and danced in his eyes. He cringed, and blinked from the bright glare, unwilling to rise from beneath the comfort of the furs.

He was still anguished from the conversation he and Robb had overheard the previous evening, and did not wish to accidentally meet Lord Eddard Stark in the halls, even though Theon doubted he kept Ice with him everywhere he went.

He especially did not wish to meet Lady Catelyn Stark. 

Robb had told him his mother's name as he had attempted to comfort him from the quarrel they had heard, promising to protect him.

Theon did not think the son of the man who was to execute him one day would have ever promised to do such a thing, and would have become so close to him, willing to keep him safe from the blade of his own father. He had been pleasantly surprised to learn he would not be entirely alone during his long, indefinite stay in Winterfell.

Theon had not felt like entering the hall to eat, his stomach was churning too unpleasantly for such an endeavour, and he did not feel he would be able to face the Starks at a dinner. Robb had gone into the hall alone, and had told his parents of Theon's sudden illness, while he had snuck back to his chambers to bury himself beneath his covers, where he had vowed to stay forever.

Unfortunately, he knew he couldn't uphold that promise to himself, especially with the light of the sun beaming in his face, so he reluctantly rose from his bed, exposing his skin to the cold morning air. Perhaps for his first morning in Winterfell, he could go exploring. It didn't seem as though he was restricted from ambling about the castle.

Theon dressed hurriedly in a simple assortment of clothes. He was aware of how the harsh bitter winds of the north effortlessly seeped through the fabric of the south, chilling him to the bone, freezing his blood, but he did not have anything else. He donned the warmest cloak he owned, black, stained with salt, and fastened around his neck with a light, round clasp bearing no distinct shape. 

As he headed towards the door, he cast one longing eye on the bow and arrows leaning against his bedside table, but decided against bringing them.

He wouldn't need them, he decided, no one was going to hurt him.

No one would hurt Lord Stark's Ward, the last living heir to Pyke,

he thought uncertainly.

* * *

Theon strode through various different hallways, silently admiring the stonework, though decoration had never truly interested him. He wanted to find hidden passages, and traps, and secret stairwells, though it appeared such things in Winterfell were well obscured.

Eventually he made it to the outside of the castle. He had been travelling around the halls and corridors for near two hours, and still he had not seen all the passages of Winterfell. 

The air froze in his throat, and he shivered as he walked into the grounds of Winterfell, though he did not turn back. 

He had not met Robb, or Jon in his explorations, and he vaguely wondered if Lord Stark expected him to go to lessons he was not yet aware of. Theon shrugged, and continued to traverse the frostbitten ground, the grass crunching beneath his toes, laced with crystals of ice. 

He trudged around the yard, still remaining within the walls of Winterfell. He didn't think he would be permitted to leave through the gates, so he didn't try.

As he walked, he passed several northerners going about their business. Most did not lift their eyes when he neared, but several did, and muttered under their breaths.

Theon mostly tried to ignore them, but he didn't like how they looked at him, or spoke of him as he passed, the traitor's son, Lord Stark's hostage. They weren't openly hostile or unfriendly to him, though, which slightly helped calm his nerves. One old lady even smiled warmly at him, and he couldn't help but return the favour with a small grin pulling at the corners of his lips.

Theon continued to walk a ways away to an isolated corner, mostly to escape the burning stares and glances being shot his way. He felt uncomfortable under the gaze of these northerners, and could only imagine what they thought of the son of the savage traitor.

He had been staring intently at his worn boots as he walked, and accidentally bumped into a stray passerby. Theon looked up, muttering an apology, when he saw who he had the misfortune of colliding into. Theon blinked, and looked up into the sour, stern stare of a large northman. Theon gulped, and stepped back a pace. The man peered at him suspiciously, when understanding suddenly dawned in his features. A dark, intimidating glare errupted in the light of his eyes, and he motioned for his friend, a coarse, disheveled woman in the process of inspecting a bowl of apples. She sighed, and reluctantly joined him, while slipping an apple into the unspeakable recesses of her rags.

Theon was about to turn and leave, instantly recognizing the look of menace and excitement in the man's eyes, an expression that never bode well for Theon when he saw it reflected on the faces of his brothers. The man, quicker than Theon could ever have anticipated, reached a strong, grubby hand, and clamped it forcefully on his thin shoulder, forcing him in place. Theon didn't dare struggle, but looked into the man's calculating stare, and attempted a small, gracious smile.

'If you don't mind, I would like to leave you alone,' Theon said quickly. The man grinned, and shook his head.

'You're the Greyjoy lad, aren't you?' He said smoothly, his tone light but laced with an edge of malice. Theon nodded hesitantly.

'And who might you be?' He countered, contemplating the best manner to wrest himself free from the man's iron grip. The woman gazed at Theon, and then proceeded to share a knowing grin with the man.

'No one you'd be interested in knowing,' the man replied easily. His grip tightened. 'What are you doing all alone, Greyjoy, on a fine morning such as this?' He asked in polite tones.

'I'm... acquainting myself with the castle,' he stammered, intensely aware of the strong pressure on his shoulder. 'Please let go of my arm,' he added with a touch of authority. This man had no right grabbing his arm. He wasn't going to be intimidated by the lower people, he told himself, though the man and woman were becoming increasingly more oppressive to his immediate situation. The man broke into what he thought was an innocent grin which did not reach his eyes, and gently removed his hand. Theon nodded in acknowledgement, and was about to leave once more, when the woman stopped him, a dirt encrusted hand on his sleeve.

'You're exploring, aren't you boy?' she rasped, a mischievous glimmer in her eyes. He nodded, wrenching his arm from her grasp. She grinned unpleasantly. 'You like interesting places, secrets hidden in these ancient stone walls?' she said, catching Theon's interest. He stopped, though a part of him screamed not to trust this filthy couple, but another, a small but overpowering part of him that had loved running along the rope bridges swaying in a storm on Pyke, climbing the sheer, rocky cliffs, and amusing himself with uncle Aeron, who enjoyed playing dangerous games involving splayed, exposed fingers, and a whirling axe, couldn't help but turn to listen.

'You know where I can find such places?' he asked warily, carefully, though the slight eagerness in his voice betraying the true excitement he felt crackling through his body. She nodded.

'I reckon who haven't found this place yet, lad,' she said, 'come with us, we'll show it to you, how 'bout that?' Theon gazed at her uncertainly, distrustful, but before he could protest, the man pushed him forward, and he could not escape.

They trudged across the grounds, Theon torn between apprehension and exhilaration, and surrounded by both unpleasant northerners. They came across an isolated, darker, foreboding part of Winterfell, and the woman opened a door revealing the entrance to a dark chamber. Theon looked past her, and saw the beginning of a spiral of stairs leading down into an unknown abyss. Theon backed away.

Uncertainty and distrust finally ocerpowered his sense of excitement, and he chose to abandon the venture. He turned to leave the couple and the passage, when the man grabbed him roughly by the shoulders.

'We thought you mught enjoy exploring the crypts of Winterfell, Greyjoy,' he said, twisting Theon's arm. Theon cried out in pain, and struggled in the man's grasp as he pulled him towards the entrance of the crypts.

'Let me go!' He shrieked, fear coursing through his body, 'You can't do this! I am Theon Greyjoy of Pyke, Lord Eddard Stark's ward, and-'

'You're nothing but a hostage, the son of a savage traitor,' he spat, 'my brother went off to fight your shit father's rebellion, and he never came back. The ironborn are all fuckers. Do you think Lord Stark cares what happens to you? The way I see it, he'll have to lop your head off one day anyway.'

Theon kicked him furiously, tears welling in his eyes. Was the man going to kill him, as revenge?

'Shits like you and your father don't deserve light. I don't know who will be coming down here again in the next while, but it won't be for a very long time,' he hissed. Theon screamed as he was sent sprawling into the darkness, the door to the crypts slamming forcefully behind him. He scrambled to his feet, and pummeled his fists on the door, tears streaming down his face. He heard the woman cackling gleefully on the other side.

'Let me out, please!' Theon wailed, slamming his weight against the door. They had blocked it somehow, trapping him inside with the corpses of Winterfell.

He heard the couples voices fade, and he knew he was alone. He sagged to the ground, his head pressed against the door, his voice raw from screaming, his knuckles torn and bloody. He clutched them to his chest, sobbing, and closed his eyes.

Theon did not believe in ghosts, men went to the drowned god's watery halls when they died, and he was not particularly afraid of the darkness. But he knew he would starve down in this dark place smelling of rot and decay, in a land that wasn't his. He angrily wiped the tears from his face. He was a Greyjoy, Lord Balon's last living son, and he wouldn't die cowering.

A strength seized him, and he pushed himself to a stand. He grabbed a torch from a sconce in the wall long since burnt out, and lit it with the torn hem of his cloak as kindle, and the tinder he carried out of habit in his pocket. The flames licked the darkness, illuminating the passage, and, breathing shakily, he began his voyage down the winding steps of the crypts.

On the first floor, he found a corridor filled on both sides with carved statues seated on long stone coffins. Theon read the dusty, grimy engravings, amd found they were all former Starks of Winterfell. Each statue held its own rusted sword at their feet. He traveled to the end of the passage, and found the statue of a young woman with a ring of carved flowers on her head, along with two other men, then several more coffins bearing no statues. Curious, he lifted the edge of one of the slabs, and found it was empty. He realized, with a start, as he looked at the inscription, that it was the future resting place of Robb Stark. The other coffins bore the names of the rest of the living Stark family.

Theon abandoned the coffins, and continued his journey down into the depths of the crypts. He read the engravings of various Starks, and even found one bearing his own namesake. He allowed himself a slight smile at the sight, but it quickly disappeared, and he continued his journey downwards, until the steps became too perilous and broken to venture further.

He rose back to the first floor, and sat in front of the woman with flowers in her hair, her expression grim, and forlorn. He leaned his back against Robb's coffin, and closed his eyes against the fear and panic ever present in his conscience. He breathed deeply until his heart slowed, and soon, exhausted from the emotions and danger surging through him, he fell into a fitful sleep.

* * *

Theon woke as gentle, though strong hands pulled at his shoulders. He moaned, and, as he came to his senses, yelped, and struggled forcefully in the stranger's grasp.

Perhaps the man had returned to slit his throat rather than wait for him to die in the dark?

'Please don't kill me!' He screamed, his hands flailing, striking his attacker.

'Theon, stop,' a voice said, and a wave of immediate recognition soared through him. He sagged in a heap of exhaustion, and fell into Eddard Stark's embrace. Tears of relief streamed from his eyes, and he held tightly to the man. He did not believe he would ever have held the north man in such away, be so pleased to be in his presence.

'Theon, what are you doing here? Robb has been looking for you for hours, and Maester Luwin with him. The door was barricaded, what-'

Theon sighed, smiled, and fainted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, please tell me how I'm doing, and hopefully I'll have the next chapter done sooner.


	6. Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon is invited to train in the yard with Robb and Jon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will try to make the chapters come out faster. I hope you like this one, although it is fairly short, and nothing much happens. I promise more stuff will happen in the future.
> 
> This one is mostly just fluff and randomness happening in the yard with Robb, Jon, and Theon.

Theon sat on a barrel, his bow in his hands, with his back leaning against the walls of Winterfell. The previous evening Lord Eddard Stark had taken him to his room, he knew, for he had woken up in a fevered state shivering beneath the furs covering his bed. Lord Stark sat at his bedside, and once he had woken, Lord Stark asked him how he had found himself in the Winterfell crypts.

'Two northerners,' he said apprehensively, his voice weak and trembling, 'they lead me there. I had been familiarizing myself with the castle, and they had...offered to help me,' he said, not mentioning the part about secret passages and his own exhilaration at the thought of uncovering hidden corridors. He especially decided not to tell him about the man's dead brother. He did not know how Lord Stark would react to such information.

Lord Stark listened intently, urging him to continue with an encouraging nod.

'They trapped me inside, and left,' he finished, leaning back into his pillow. Lord Stark sat pensively. Theon could still hear the woman's harsh laugh echoing in his head. He closed his eyes, and tried to ignore it.

After a while, Theon opened his eyes once more.

'Lord Stark?' He said, slightly timidly, 'who were all those Starks in the crypts? Why do you keep them down there? We bury our dead beneath the sea to be with the drowned god. I...I even saw a Stark with my name.'

Eddard studied Theon for a moment, then smiled.

'How about tomorrow you can start having classes with Maester Luwin like Robb and Jon. Then you can ask him all about the crypts,' he said kindly, rising from his chair. 'For now, though, just rest. You'll feel better in the morning, and what those people did will only seem like a...a bad dream.' Theon very much doubted it, but said nothing.

'I promise no one will do anything like that to you again while you are in Winterfell,' Lord Stark assured, before leaving the room, closing the door behind him. Theon did not know how he could make such a promise, but shut his eyes, and hoped what Lord Stark said would come to pass.

On the barrel, Theon licked his lips, and hugged his bow to his chest. He wasn't going to take any chances that the couple would return to finish him off. 

The temperature had risen slightly, and he could venture out without his warm, though now torn cloak. 

Across the yard, Theon stared enviously as Robb and Jon fought with sparring swords and shields, hacking at each other under the watchful gaze of a man with a carefully groomed white beard. He would occasionally correct their posture, or position, and step in when one of them got too excited, and kept whacking their opponent when they were on the ground.

Theon remembered training with Dagmar Cleftjaw as his tutor, as well as uncle Aeron occasionally. He did not particularly know how to fight with a sword, but his brothers would attack him with their practise swords regardless, beating him mercilessly. 

He had been the best at archery, however, while his sister had excelled in throwing and fighting with axes. 

He remembered when he finally got the shaft in the centre of the target for the first time, and the approving grin from Cleftjaw had warmed him to the bone.

He surfaced from his memories with a start when he realized Robb was poking his dangling leg.

'Theon!' Robb whined, 'are you awake?' Theon blinked, and nodded dumbly, staring down at him from his perch on the barrel. 

'Do you want to train with us? Father said you were to join us, and Sir Rodrik says it's okay, that he'll teach you,' Robb said, gazing at Theon hopefully. Theon's brow furrowed in confusion. Was he supposed to train with Robb and Jon, be treated as them, and learn as they did? He was a hostage, so he would not be given the same amount of respect and kindness as Robb, but he wasn't to be excluded.

Theon slid off the barrel, and followed Robb to where Sir Rodrik, and Jon stood, stabbing his sword into the dirt, and glaring as Theon approached.

'Does he have to train with us?' He asked angrily. Robb nodded enthusiastically. Theon matched Jon's withering glower, and carefully placed his bow aside. He twisted his hands nervously. Sir Rodrik approached him with a sparring sword, and handed it to him, a gentle smile on his face. Theon bit his lip, and awkwardly clutched the hilt with both hands. The blade immediately dropped as Sir Rodrik let go. The knight frowned.

'Were you not tought on the Iron Islands how to properly wield a sword?' He asked. Theon hesitantly shook his head.

'My brothers fought me with their swords, but I was usually unarmed,' he replied. Sir Rodrik shook his head.

'Did your father teach you anything?' He said. 

'Not him personally, but Dagmar Cleftjaw taught me archery, and uncle Aeron helped me with axes,' he offered indignantly. Of course he knew things. 'I was taught literature, religion, and the like,' he added. Sir Rodrik nodded, though Theon assumed he knew the religion of the Iron Islands was much different than that of the North or the South. 

'But you were never taught the proper way to hold a sword,' the knight clarified. Theon nodded submissively, and glared as Jon stifled a laugh with his hand.

After an hour of Sir Rodrik teaching Theon how to fight with a sword, starting with hacking at a straw dummy, he soon found he did not particularly enjoy it, and found the blade cumbersome, heavy, and difficult to swing accurately. His cheeks blazed with embarrasment as he struggled with the new weapon under the conceited, gleeful grin of Jon Snow, and the encouraging smile of Robb Stark. 

After two hours, Theon threw down the sword in frustration. His body was sore, and ached fiercely, his knuckles, injured from the previous day while pounding on the door of the crypt, split once more, the wounds only partially healed, and bleeding freely.

He gasped at the pain, and hid his fists in the folds of his tunic. He hated sword fighting, and he was never going to improve, he thought bitterly.

Robb approached him cautiously, peering at his hands curiously. 

'What's wrong, Theon?' He asked delicately. Theon shook his head.

He was far from home, a hostage, he was in pain, his knuckles hurt, he was never going to see his sister and his mother again, his brothers were dead, he had been trapped in the crypts of Winterfell to starve and die in the dark, he would be executed one day, and he could not wield a sword.

'Nothing,' he snapped. Although tears threatened to spill from his eyes, he managed to hold them back. 

Robb reached out, and gently took Theon's bleeding hands in his own. He ripped a piece of cloth from the hem of his jerkin, to Theon's protests, and wrapped it tenderly around his knuckles, knotting the ends together. 

'That was fine fabric...' Theon said weakly. Robb shrugged.

'You needed it more than I did, and father won't mind.' He thought a moment, 'although, mother might,' he added. 

'Thank you...' Theon said, causing Robb to break into a grin. 

'You'll get better at swords,' he assured, 'I was terrible too, at the start.' Theon lowered his gaze.

'I suppose it is time for archery, now, boys,' Sir Rodrik announced wearily. Theon's head snapped up. 

'Really?' He said excitedly. He snatched his bow, ran to the targets, and pulled a shaft in the centre of all three targets. He looked behind him, a triumphant grin on his face, and saw Sir Rodrik staring at him with an expression of amazement, Robb beaming at him, and Jon glowering, an arrow only just nocked to the bow, though continuously shifting from the middle. 

Theon turned back to the targets, another arrow suddenly nocked to the bow. The last time he had loosed an arrow, was when he had shot the soldier in the shoulder back on Pyke. He sighed deeply, and pulled back.

For a brief moment, as the string released, and the arrow hissed through the air, Theon was home.

If only he could stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	7. Under the Weirwood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robb has two somethings to show Theon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is relatively short, sorry, but I get them out easier like this. I hope you like this one, even though my writing skills are cringeworthy.
> 
> This chapter takes place about two weeks after Theon's arrival in Winterfell. He's pretty well placed in the system of classes and whatnot by now.

'Theon!' 

Theon groaned, and rolled over, cracking his eye open slightly. No light shone from the break in the curtains, indicating it was still well before dawn. Theon squinted in the gloom, and found the wide, bright blue eyes of Robb Stark staring back at him at his bedside. Theon blinked, and forced himself up from the warm recesses of his furs. He shivered in the cool morning air.

'What is it, Stark?' He croaked, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Robb grinned, though a bit nervously. He kneeled directly in front of Theon, pushing his nose into his face. 

'Theon?' He whispered loudly. 

'Yes?' Theon replied patiently. He really was exhausted, and the warmth from the blankets was more enticing than ever, and he had been in the midst of a dream involving swaying bridges, and crashing waves, the taste of salt strong on his tongue, the wind rustling his hair. He deeply wished to return to his fantasies of home, but Robb was fixing him with such a look of earnestness, and barely suppressed excitement, Theon forced himself to stay awake, and listen to him.

'I...I have something I want to show you,' Robb stammered, 'Jon doesn't want you to go near it, he says it's the special place of our family, and that you don't care about the old gods of the north, but...' Robb looked down at his hands. Theon, intrigued, urged him to continue. He was especially going to find out about a special place Jon didn't want him to be.

'You've been with us for two weeks, and you're not going anywhere, so you must be becoming part of the family, right?' Robb went on with a hopeful grin. Theon decided not to tell him that wasn't how families worked, with each passing day he had been becoming closer to Robb Stark, and had even begun to view him as a younger brother. Theon had never been the older one before, and never had the experience of being looked up to for guidance, for help and ideas. Theon had begun to explore the true multitude of spontaneous thoughts that sprang into his head, for games, or reckless stunts he would never have been able to practice with anyone else before. Robb looked up to him in admiration, and Theon had begun to respond eagerly, and a bit nervously, with actions to impress and awe the younger boy, as well as influence. Theon had begun to be a leader, something he never even knew was possible, and he enjoyed it immensely. It also distracted him from the miseries that haunted him at night, and to see the bright, pleased grin on Robb Stark's face when Theon excelled in a risky activity was worth anything, even occasionally embarrassing himself.

'I think I want you to finally be in this place, I want to show it to you, because...' Robb looked into Theon's eyes, 'if you're going to be family, then you have to feel like it, and I want to help you.'

Theon stared at Robb, and felt a surge of happiness at his words. Theon looked at the Stark family from the outside, a perfect mother and father who loved each other, and embraced Robb with smiles and tender kisses on his brow. They were constantly interested in what he did or said, and Jon would receive the pleasant signs of affection from his father, and half brother. The family was good, loyal to one another, and close, nearly whole, if it weren't for the anger Lady Catelyn reserved for Jon Snow.

Theon's father never loved him, had thrown him away. His mother had bowed in submission to his father's beatings and rage, and Theon had constantly been harassed by his older brothers. Asha had been the only one left for him, and she had never been truly close like the Starks. His mother had begun to decline in her health and sanity when she heard of Rodrik's death. The last time he had spoken to her, she didn't quite understand he was leaving. She had been wishing him a goodnight, repeatedly shoving a candle in his hand, when the sun shone brightly through the clouds. 

Maron's death, the siege  and his departure had finally broken her.

Theon had begun to realize he did his stunts to not only impress Robb, but his father as well.

He wanted the grin Eddard reserved for his two sons to be extended to him.

Theon blinked, and realized, as he gazed at Robb Stark, he was desperately envious.

He shook his head to rid himself of the various unpleasant thoughts circling his mind, and placed a gentle hand on Robb's shoulder.

'You can show me your special place,' he said quietly. Robb beamed, and nearly ripped him out of bed, tearing back the furs, and, without allowing him to change, forcing him out the door to meet the cold air in his nightgown.  

Theon trembled violently, and hugged himself, his bare toes freezing in his boots, the wind whipping around him. His teeth chattered, and his knees shook, but Robb took him by the hand, a cloak around his shoulders trailing in the grass, and led him forcefully through the grounds of Winterfell.

Theon found himself by a small forest at the edge of a warm pool, steam drifting from the water to swirl warmly around his frozen legs. A large, splayed, white tree with dark red leaves whistling from the branches stood before him, a face carved in the trunk, tears of blood trickling from its eyes. Theon stared at it, intimidated. 

'What is it?' He asked Robb. He had never seen such a tree before, there weren't many on Pyke to begin with. Men reaved the mainland to gather lumber to build their ships. The tree seemed forlorn, and Theon felt small, and insignificant in its solemn presence. He was not a Stark, he did not belong here.

'It is the old gods of the North, a Weirwood tree,' Robb explained in hushed tones, 'they watch over us, and listen to us.'

'Why is it so sad?' Theon inquired, curious. 'Shouldn't gods be powerful?' Robb shrugged.

'That's just how it's always looked,' he replied, 'I suppose he could be sad because a lot of its brothers and sisters were killed in the south. There aren't many of them left.' Theon's brow furrowed.

'How come they were killed?'

'The southrons worship the seven, not the old gods,' said Robb, 'mother is from the south, so we learned about both religions, and we have a sept, too, but I like the Weirwood tree better, and I thought you might like it too, because...I know you miss the water...'

Theon looked down at the calm, steaming ripples, and realized he hadn't seen such an expanse of water for a very long time, since he had reached land after his voyage with Lord Stark.

A slow grin crept into his face, and he glanced at Robb mischievously. Robb beamed eagerly, and threw off his cloak and boots, exposing himself briefly to the cold. He quicky jumped into the pools, instantly disturbing the serenity and peace of the sacred place. Theon, trembling from exhilaration, wriggled out of his boots and nightgown, gasping in the sudden chill. He easily clambered to the edge, and leapt gracefully into the waters.

He sighed as the warmth touched his skin, amd soon engulfed him. He held his breath tightly, and stayed, suspended in the water for a few moments, merely taking in the feeling of home.

He eventually emerged from the surface, smiling at Robb, who giggled, his small body working frantically to stay above the water. He darted out a hand, and splashed Theon full in the face.

Theon spluttered, and grinned nastily. 

He would show this northerner the ways of the Iron Islands.

Until the sun finally rested her warm rays on the frosted grounds of Winterfell, beaming over the castle walls, Theon swam, dove, and played with Robb Stark in the hotsprings, flinging water at the younger boy, who would laugh gleefully, and counter with his own attacks. 

Theon loved how Robb marveled at his swift strokes, and elegant plunges, the long periods of time he could stay under the water, grabbing playfully at his ankles.

Eventually, though, even Theon grew exhausted, even in his intense desire for the moment to never end.

They rested in the shallows of the pool, half their bodies still submerged to keep warm, gazing up as the light of the sun trickled between the rustling leaves, dancing on their faces.

'Thank you for bringing me here, Robb,' Theon mumbled, closing his eyes. 

'I knew you would like it,' Robb said excitedly, 'you told me about the waves and sea from your island back home, so I thought you might like it.' Theon smiled.

They rested for a moment in silence, Theon enjoying the serenity of the moment, the soft kiss of the breeze on his temple, the warm water encasing him, swirling gently around him. 

'Theon, do you miss your home?' Robb asked, breaking the silence. Theon split open an eye. He raised himself to his elbows, and contemplated the question.

'Yes,' he said eventually. He couldn't help a touch of sadness creep into his voice. 

'Do you miss your family?' said Robb, gazing at him intently. Theon bit his lip.

'Both of my brothers are dead,' he replied softly, 'my mother is...and my father...' He lowered his gaze. He didn't want to talk about his parents. 'I miss my sister the most,' he admitted, 'she...she was nice sometimes, and I know she really loved me, because I loved her too.'

Theon felt Robb's eyes on him, and he lifted his gaze to find tears on the younger boy's cheeks. Theon stared in confusion.

'What's wrong? What did I say?' Theon asked quickly, concerned. Robb looked away from him for a moment, and wiped his eyes with his hand. Then his face lit up, and he turned to Theon once more. 

'I have a sister,' he said, 'maybe you could meet her, and then you wouldn't miss your own sister so much!' He said excitedly. Theon frowned. How could meeting his sister make him any less reminiscent of his own?

Regardless, Theon reluctantly allowed Robb to lead him out of the warmth of the pools, exposing his wet flesh to the cold. He shivered violently, and quickly pulled on his boots and nightgown, the fabric clinging to his damp skin.

Robb took Theon by the hand, and pulled him across the yard, leaving the sacred Weirwood behind. Theon hoped he could return one day. 

They entered the castle, Theon grateful of an escape from the cold, and sped down various corridors, until they reached a room he recognized to be beside that of Robb's and Jon's. Robb pushed open the door gently, and they tread quietly into the nursery, a finger to his lips.

'We can't wake her, or she'll start screaming,' he explained in hushed tones, 'and Old Nan doesn't like that.' Old Nan, Theon knew, was the wet nurse, an old, withered crone who delighted in spending her days knitting by the fire, and frightening the boys with tales of beasts, and ghosts. Theon didn't believe most of them, but he couldn't help but shiver when she spoke of the crypts. She said the spirits of the Starks buried there would come alive in the night, and if you stole a sword from their feet, they would grow angry, amd steal your soul from your body. Theon remembered the forlorn, steely gazes of the statues, their stone eyes hard, except for that of the woman with flowers in her hair. She wore an expression of deep melancholy, and a touch of a smile.

Theon remembered the darkness, the dank smell, the cold, and the tightness in his breath, shadows flickering on the walls.

He shuddered, but the thoughts immediately drifted from his mind when he saw the crib in the middle of the room. Robb gently led him to it, and Theon soon found himself gazing at a small, beautiful, pale baby girl. Her head bore a crown of a light, red fluff, and her face held plump cheeks, and a peaceful smile. Her chest rose and fell with small sighs, and Theon couldn't help, but smile.

Robb gazed down at his baby sister, and gently twirled a finger in her hair. She gave a little soft noise, but didn't awake.

'Her name is Sansa,' he said proudly, then a slight frown crossed his lips. He looked up at Theon, a worried expression on his face.

'Mother and father say I have to protect her,' he said softly, 'but what if I'm not there? What if I can't help her, and keep her from harm? Then I will have failed her, and I could never do that...' He gazed wanly at his little sister, and Theon wondered briefly if Asha had ever felf the same way about him. 

He swallowed hard, and wrapped his fingers around one of Sansa's small feet. She seemed so helpless, so delicate in her crib, dressed in a frilly, white gown. He felt something stir in his heart, and he looked up at Robb with an expression of certainty.

'I'll help you protect her,' he promised, 'then you won't have to worry, because I'll be there for her too.'

Robb beamed at him, a grin spreading across his lips, his blue eyes bright and shining.

'Really? Then...then maybe you can be her brother too,' he said happily. Theon smiled.

'Now and always,' he assured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it, and please tell me how I did, I'm really nervous about my portrayal of these characters, and how well this story is flowing.


	8. Old Nan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon slips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, finally, another chapter done, I was a bit busy there for a moment. I hope you like this one, even though it's really short, and please tell me how I did! I'm afraid this one is not too happy, but I'm sure you all remember this from ADWD.
> 
> Also, time jump, this chapter takes place six months after Theon has arrived in Winterfell.

Theon clutched the beaten and battered letter to his chest, the seal bearing the kraken sigil of House Greyjoy hanging loosely on the end. He had finally received a message from home! After six months of silence! Maester Luwin had immediately placed the letter in Theon's eager hands, smiling. Theon had been utterly miserable and home sick, and finally he had a word from his long lost family from the stormy shores of Pyke. He imagined a cool, sea breeze tickling his temple, and the taste of salt ripe on his tongue as he read the words from home.

The letter was curt, which slightly disappointed Theon, but he supposed it would be easier to remember if it was shorter anyway. He whipped through the letter, absorbing each small detail, and frowned when it was over, when there were no more words left, but his father's scrawled signature at the bottom. It wasn't even written by him, Asha had scribed all the words, but he was glad to hear from her anyway. 

He had to show Robb, he realized, he had to share this wonderful news with his friend, and perhaps get a chance to rub it in Snow's face! Excitement soared through him, stealing through every nerve in his body, and he tore from the room, the letter clutched tightly in his hand, his heart racing with exhilaration, and he leapt down the stone steps of the stairs, taking two at a time. He had to find Robb, he had to tell-

He blanched as he saw Old Nan in front of him, he tried to stop, but the momentum carried him forward, out of his control, and he smashed into the old woman, taking them both down. 

He scrambled from her, and stared. Her eyes were closed, and she wasn't moving. His letter was gone. 

Panic seized him, but before he could react, a hand seized him around the back of his collar, and he was wrenched to his feet.

'Theon Greyjoy!' Lady Catelyn screamed at him, forcing him around to face her. He shrank at her withering glare, the excitement he had felt a few moments before nothing but a distant dream. She let go of him, commanding him to stay, and knelt beside Old Nan, lifting the crone's head onto her knee. Fear and shock caused Theon to stay precisely where he was, rather than flee, and he bit hard on his lip, forcing himself not to cry. He prayed silently to the drowned god, to Robb's tree gods, even to the seven of the south, that he did not kill Old Nan.

After a few long, excruciating moments in which Lady Catelyn attempted to rouse the old woman, Theon relaxed in a wave of relief when she finally opened her eyes. She was alive! Theon felt his heart gradually slow, but he did not know if she was severely injured or not. Perhaps she would die later on Maester Luwin's table? Theon rushed towards the nurse to make sure that didn't happen, to make sure she was fine, but Lady Catelyn snapped at him to stay put. He stopped.

It wasn't until Hodor, the big, friendly, large half wit had Old Nan back on her feet, that he remembered the letter. He whirled around for it, searching the floor frantically. He couldn't lose it! Fear gripped his heart once more, and he was about to scramble on his hands and knees for the precious message, when Lady Catelyn seized his wrist tightly. 

'You're coming with me!' she said sternly, dragging him away. Old Nan muttered something about milk, and left with Hodor to check on baby Sansa. Theon didn't try to fight her grasp, he did not know how he would fare later if he escaped now. 

His boots scraped on the ground as he hurried to catch up to her long strides as he was lead away. 

'I'm sorry, it was an accident, Lady Catelyn!' he wailed. She did not reply, or look at him, but merely kept walking, her hand strong on his wrist, a hard, and angry expression on her face. When she finally reached her destination, and stopped, Theon's heart sank. They were outside Lord Stark's solar.

Lady Catelyn wordlessly whipped open the door, and dragged him inside, shutting it behind her. Theon found himself in a large room, a bed mounted with furs in the corner, a tall wardrobe of glistening dark wood, and a desk with a multitude of sheets of parchment stacked neatly on top. Lord Eddard stood by his wardrobe, his back against the wall, and his arms folded. Maester Luwin sat at the desk, a quill coated with ink held delicately in his hand. They both turned as Theon and Catelyn entered.

'Ned!' she said, pulling Theon forward, 'Theon Greyjoy knocked down Old Nan, a harmless old woman!' her eyes blazed with fury as she looked at Theon, then at her husband. Lord Eddard's eyes widened, and he stared at Theon, who shied from his gaze.

'I'm sorry, it was an accident,' he quavered, and Lady Catelyn let go of his wrist. He was tempted to run, but he knew it would be pointless. The consequences would only be more severe.

Lady Catelyn approached her husband, and muttered to him conspiratorially. Theon caught the phrases 'he will be just like his father', and 'I told you Ned, he is nothing but trouble, never trust a Greyjoy.' Theon forced down his tears, and bit his lip bloody. After another collection of exchanges, Lord Stark sighed, and reluctantly stepped forward. He motioned for Maester Luwin to leave, and took Theon's hand.

'The man who passes a sentence, should swing the sword,' he murmured softly under his breath, a pained look in his eyes. Theon gazed at him pleadingly, and closed his eyes.

~

Theon sat under the Weirwood, his legs dangling in the hot pools. Tears, warm and thick, streamed from his eyes, and he cried into his hands, the tears creating soft ripples in the water. Bruises stung on his back, and he had never found his letter. He was a disappointment, to his own father, and Lord Stark. He would never be anything more, he would be stuck in the north, far away from the sea forever. 

Without wiping the tears from his cheeks, he felt them on his tongue, tasting the salt of the sea, and he slipped from where he sat, and plunged into the water. He didn't want to resurface, he wanted to drown in his tears, where he belonged, beneath the water, but soon his breath ran out, his chest burned, and he was forced to emerge from the depths of the pool. He drifted aimlessly around the water for the next hour, and watched the sun dip beneath the horizon, a haze of colours bleeding across the sky. He closed his eyes, and let darkness settle in.

'Theon!' 

Theon snapped from his reverie, and whipped around to see Robb running towards him across the grounds. Stars twinkled innocently above Theon, and his skin was wrinkled from the water. He didn't want to see Robb right now, he wanted to hide his face, as it felt raw from his tears, and he could only imagine how obvious it was. He didn't want Robb to know he had been crying, he was the older boy, and he had to be strong. 

Strong like a kraken.

Robb panted as he came to a halt on the edge of the pool, and dropped to his knees.

'Theon, I've been looking for you everywhere! Father told me what happened, and he wanted to see if you were okay, and I wanted to know too, because we're friends, is it true you knocked over Old Nan?' Robb said in a long breath, his words spewing frantically from his mouth. He gazed at Theon with his bright, inquisitive eyes, and Theon turned away from him. He didn't think Lord Stark cared how he was.

'It was an accident,' Theon muttered. Robb bit his lip as he came to see the extent of Theon's appearance, his red rimmed eyes, his dark expression, and when he turned away from the younger boy, Robb saw a collection of bruises blooming on his back. He knew his father had disciplined Theon, and mother had wanted him to, because Theon had done a bad thing, but Theon was his friend, and his brother, he couldn't bare to see him like this, hunched in the water, miserable.

Robb chose that moment to hold up the piece of parchment he had been holding behind his back. Theon's eyes lit up at the sight. He surged from the water, and made a move to grab it, but Robb held it a bit out of reach.

'I don't want you to ruin it, your hands are all wet,' he explained quickly at Theon's glare. Theon wiped his hands on the grass, and snatched the letter from Robb's grasp. He smiled at Robb, then, his lips pulled back to reveal his teeth. Robb hadn't seem him so happy in a long while. 

'I saw it in the corridor, and it had the kraken sigil on the seal, so I thought it must be yours, I didn't read it,' he said hurriedly. Then he leaned forward slightly.

'Is it from your family?' he asked politely, although he already knew the answer. Theon nodded, and glanced at Robb uncertainly.

'I...I wanted to show it to you,' he stammered, 'I was so excited, I leapt down the stairs, and accidentally hit Old Nan, I didn't mean to.'

Robb nodded. Of course he would believe his friend. He thought a moment.

'You wanted to show it to me?' he said excitedly, 'why don't you read it to me?'

Theon bit his lip, and grinned. Theon drifted closer to him, holding the precious message above the water.

'It's from my sister,' he explained, before clearing his throat.

'It says, Dear Theon, this is Asha. Things have begun to settle down here in Pyke, and many men have rebuilt the fallen parts of our castle. Mother is confused, she thinks you never left, and she keeps going to your room to wish you a goodnight, but then starts crying when she sees your empty bed. Father got mad, and now she is at her father's home on Harlaw. I'm alone with father now, which is not much fun, and I miss mother. I hope you return soon, although father says you aren't coming back, but I don't believe him. Stay strong, little brother,' he paused, as the next phrase said 'I hear Lord Stark eats the flesh of his enemies, and his family is a vicious pack of wolves that howl at night.' Theon licked his lips, and continued after the sentence, 'I know you'll survive, the sea is in your blood. Sincerely, Asha Greyjoy.' 

Robb grinned at Theon, but then frowned.

'Aren't you going to stay here forever?' he said. Theon shrugged. 

'I don't know, maybe I will be allowed to go back home just to visit,' he replied.

'But I want you to stay,' Robb pouted, wrapping his arms around him. Theon shivered in the cold, northern air, though Robb's embrace warmed him to the bone. Theon didn't want to stay, he wanted to go home, he didn't want Asha to be alone with their father, and he wanted to feel the sea again. But Robb was his friend, and he didn't want to leave him.

Regardless, Theon doubted he would ever see his home again, but clutched the letter close to his heart, a small remnant of Pyke. 

Robb held him tighter, and Theon returned the favour, embracing the small boy's torso.

'Promise me you'll stay forever!' Robb said, his voice insistent. Theon bit his lip. He was a hostage, and bound to the north no matter what he wanted.

'I promise,' he replied.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and hopefully I'll be faster with the next update!
> 
> By the way, I didn't mean to make Catelyn mean, she just doesn't like children who are not her own, and she never liked or trusted Theon and Jon. Theon was the son of the man her husband had to ride away to defeat in a war, so she's bound not to like him.


	9. Execution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon holds Ice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm afraid this chapter had to happen, there was no other way about it. I hope you like it, even though it is not cheerful, but this fic has not been the happiest, although I have immensely enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> Time jump, this chapter takes place about a year after Theon first arrived at Winterfell, also, I may have screwed around with the ages to make Robb and Jon a bit older, so, in this chapter, Theon is ten, Robb is eight, and Jon is seven. I am deeply sorry. Also, Sansa is probably almost three, or something, I don't really know. Just go with it, please, for my sake.
> 
> By the way, don't worry, I will definitely use "Ser" instead of "Sir" this time, sorry about that. 
> 
> Also, sorry for spelling errors, this is still not beta'd.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Theon sighed inwardly and let his mind wander idly as Maester Luwin explained the various Houses scattered across Westeros, their sigils, words, and brief histories. Theon liked the story of Harrenhal, dragons slightly intrigued him, but he was less keen on the haunted part. He was wary of ghosts, and avoided the crypts, even when Robb begged him to join him to put the toy wolf he had from when he was a baby in his coffin. Theon hated the fact that he had a coffin, it was as though the castle was waiting with bated breath until they could shut his body away inside, and let the darkness devour him, though Theon knew this was foolish. Robb wanted to place the wolf inside because he said it was symbolic, and he didn't need it anymore, but it had to be safe. Theon had never owned a toy, he knew his father believed in paying the iron price for anything, and Theon would have to wait to receive until he was old enough to deliver the iron price. He didn't like the thought of doing so, but you were not considered a man on the Iron Islands until you killed your first enemy. Theon very much doubted his enemy would be in the form of a toy merchant, so he knew he would never own one.

He couldn't help but feel a touch of envy when he saw Jon and Robb play on the floor with little Sansa with wooden, painted knights, although, since the girl was growing older, she much preferred her dolls dressed in frilly dresses. Besides, Robb and Jon had begun to cease from playing, as they were growing older, and men did not play with toys, though Robb was only eight, and Jon merely seven. 

Theon had his first name day in Winterfell two weeks ago, he was now ten years of age, and he had not received a letter from Pyke. Nothing had arrived since the brief message from Asha six months ago, and at first he had confined himself to his room to brood in sullenness. He had felt utterly miserable, until Robb knocked primly on his door, and Theon opened it to see the boy grinning from ear to ear, holding two plates carefully between his fingers containing slices of cake from the kitchens. Theon instantly brightened, and the rest of the evening had been spent dining in secret in his room, and later swimming in the hot pools under the Weirwood tree. Theon didn't think he had ever been so happy on any of his name days, as usually, Rodrik and Maron would wake him up early to give him a surprise beating. He had grown to loathe and dread his name day, hoping each year his brothers had forgotten, but they seemed to always remember, and the remainder of the day would be spent cringing in pain while hidden under his covers in his chamber. 

When Robb's name day had arrived, his parents had showered him with gifts, and little sweets from the kitchens. Theon had looked on in amazement, completely astounded to find such days were ones to be celebrated and enjoyed. They held a special feast, in which Jon and Theon were seated together at a separate table, much to the discomfort of both of them, unable to stand each other's company for more than a brief collection of moments. They had both eaten in sullen silence, but Theon couldn't help but think they had shared something then, as they were forced together, outcasts from the Stark family. They  both looked upon the privileged Robb Stark eating happily with his loving parents with inconceivable, and barely concealed envy. It was not something Theon enjoyed thinking about, but when Jon's name day arrived, Ned Stark had spent the entirety of the day amusing himself with his illegitimate son, looking upon him with kindness, an unfamiliar experience to Theon.

_Your own father gave you away..._

Theon couldn't help but feel lonely, envious, and rejected.

'Greyjoy, what are the words and sigil of House Mormont? Greyjoy?'

Theon snapped from his reverie, and blinked at Maester Luwin, who stared at him expectantly. Theon bit his lip. House Mormont...House Mormont...was it a collection of shells, or a sun... Theon's brow furrowed in concentration, and he reddened as Jon smirked with contempt, and Robb looked at him with a mixture of hope and pity in his expression. Mormont...Mormount...mountain...maid...he closed his eyes for a brief moment, and then opened them wide with proud recollection. The bear and the maiden fair!

'A-a-a bear!' he cried triumphantly, 'it's a bear, with the words "Here We Stand".' Theon grinned.

'Yes, well, you were lucky, try and know it better next time, and pay attention when I am talking,' Maester Luwin said, causing Theon's smile to falter. On Pyke he didn't have to know all the sigils of Westeros, only the ones that mattered, which were the Houses of the Iron Islands. He fingered the quill in his hand idly, and attempted to focus as Maester Luwin spoke of the glories of House Martell, but he quickly grew bored. Why did he need to know about a House far in the south, anyway? It wasn't as if he would ever go there.

'Hello boys, I see you are learning of Dorne, fascinating,' Lord Eddard Stark strode into the room, the smile he held on his lips instantly falling as he drew near, a serious expression clouding his features. Theon looked at him nervously. If something was wrong...

Lord Stark clapped his two sons on the back, and came to sit in front of all three of them.

'I'm sorry to interrupt, Maester, but I need to speak to them about something for a moment,' he said. Maester Luwin nodded, bowed, and quickly left the room, closing the door behind him. Lord Stark sighed, and rubbed his chin.

'The time has come for you to witness an execution,' he said softly, staring into each of their eyes intently. Theon felt his expression glaze over. He could not betray the utter flurry of panic and fear erupting madly inside him. He bit his lip to keep it from quivering. Robb and Jon nodded dutifully, understanding the fullness of the situation. They had to make their father proud, and become brave men. It was time for them to witness death, and learn to grow as honourable men like their father.

Theon had seen men die on numerous occasions. He remembered when he was four, he was in the feasting hall, and his Uncle Aeron had drunkenly hit another man on the head with the butt end of his axe. A drunken brawl had broke out, and Theon's mother had quickly ushered him from the room, but not before Theon saw a man have an axe driven into his chest, and another have his arm removed. He had seen men die multiple times since then, either caught in a fight with his uncles, or his brothers, and of course, the Siege of Pyke had been littered with death and destruction.

Now shouldn't be any different, he told himself fiercely, but of course it was a lie.

Now he would see a demonstration of his own fate.

'After your lessons, you will ride with Ser Rodrik to the hill,' he said solemnly. He rose, patted Robb and Jon on the back, and, after a brief consideration, did the same to Theon. Theon felt his heart flutter at the contact, but it quickly faded as Lord Stark left. He hunched over his parchment, and hurriedly began taking notes on House Martell, attempting to ignore the unpleasant churning in the pit of his stomach. He didn't know how he was going to face the execution, but one look at Robb's paled face, Theon knew he had to be strong, and bear it.

He remembered his promise.

~

Lord Stark rode ahead with a collection of Stark soldiers, and Theon breathed heavily to maintain a calm demeanour, though Robb was clinging to his arm in panic.

'What if I look away? What if I flinch?' Robb asked fretfully, his eyes wide with fear. Theon bit his lip, and forced his emotions down. He had to be strong, like a kraken, he told himself.

'I won't let you look away, I promised to help you, and I shall,' he assured, 'you have to stand tall, and be brave.' Robb nodded, trembling slightly. Jon stood beside him, silent, a look of dread plain on his face. The boy was only seven, Theon reminded himself, but he could never force it in him to help him as well, and he sorely doubted Jon would accept his help even if he was willing to extend it.

Ser Rodrik approached them, and Theon felt his heart plummet. 

In his arms, he held the Great sword Ice in his hands, wrapped in the large fur of a wolf, it's tongue hanging limply from it's mouth. Theon felt sick at the sight, but carefully pulled his face into what he hoped was a plain expression. 

Behind the knight, the stableboy came with three horses, one for each of them, Theon supposed. Robb and Jon had their own stallions, but Theon's usually changed, and never was the same. He did not go riding often. 

Ser Rodrik allowed them to mount their horses, and Theon felt a brief flush of satisfaction when he became acquainted with his own mare. It wasn't soft, or genteel, it pawed the ground with barely suppressed excitement, and Theon could have sworn he saw a look of mischief in it's eyes. He preferred the more lively ones.

His elation quickly dissipated, however, and was replaced with a deep feeling dread and despondency when Ser Rodrik approached him, holding Ice up to him.

'You are to carry the blade, Greyjoy,' he said severely, delicately proffering the sword. Theon blanched, but bit the inside of his cheek until it bled to suppress his panic, and accepted the Valyrian sword, instantly staggering under it's weight. He grit his teeth, and managed to balance it across in front of him. He subdued the urge to vomit, the wolf's tongue was pressed against his leg, it's glassy eyes stared at him vacantly, and Theon knew, could nearly  _feel_ how the sword hated him. It seemed to want to leap from it's scabbard, and bury itself in Theon's neck, or so he imagined. He avoided looking at it, but cringed when he had to hold onto the fur to steady it while he rode. Perhaps a gentler horse would have been preferable. 

They arrived at the hill, and Robb and Jon stayed seated in their saddles beside Ser Rodrik. Theon swallowed, drew in a deep breath, and clambered from his horse. Holding the dreaded sword in his arms extended well in front of him, he strode towards Lord Stark. Each step seemed to drag him down, weighing heavier and heavier, dragging him down. Eventually he made it to where Lord Stark stood, and instantly wished he hadn't. 

It was his first look at the execution block, and Theon nearly heaved at the sight. He tasted bile at the back of his throat, and he took in a large gulp of air, breathing heavily. 

It was a long log with and indentation in the centre for the neck to be placed over. The curve was dark and stained with blood, and other substances. He imagined the feel of the wood against his skin as he placed his neck over it, and closed his eyes. He couldn't think about that, no, he had to be strong, he couldn't fail Robb, or Lord Stark. 

A man stood before the log, his hands bound, and a wild, desperate, though angry look blazing in his eyes. He scowled unpleasantly at Lord Eddard, and stood proudly in the soldier's grasp, dressed in rags, his face scarred and weatherbeaten. Theon swallowed nervously, and heard Robb and Jon gently approaching on their stallions. They visibly trembled, and Robb looked about to faint in his saddle, his hands gripping the reigns as though his life depended on it. He met Theon's gaze, and they shared a nod. Theon gave him a meaningful nod. They would witness it together, and they would both be strong.

'Do you have any last words?' Lord Stark asked solemnly to the prisoner. The man pulled his lips back in a snarl.

'Fuck you,' he spat, 'it was fun, watching that woman scream and wail, as I had my way with her, and slid my little blade up and down her. I would do it again.' He grinned nastily, and Theon felt his stomach churn. 

Lord Stark kept his expression calm, and betrayed no emotion. He silently turned to Theon, and held out his arm expectantly. His hands trembling, Theon quickly offered him the hilt of the sword, and held tightly, digging his nails into the fur, as Eddard drew the blade. Theon heard it sing with a hissing sound, and grit his teeth. Lord stark placed the point of the sword into the grass, and rested his hands on the pommel, his head bowed.

'In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, first of his name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, I, Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell, and Warden of the North, sentence you to die,' he muttered quietly under his breath.

This was it. Theon braced himself, forced his eyes open as the man was shoved onto the log, and chewed his lip to a bloody pulp. He shared one brief glance with Robb, attempting to share a confident nod. Robb was pale, and frightened, but he returned the gesture, his jaw clenched, his chest held tall. Theon gulped, and turned to the execution.

Ice came in a graceful arc, slicing through the air, and tore through the man's neck in one quick, heavy slash. Blood sprayed, and the man's head fell to the ground, flesh hanging jaggedly from the neck, his eyes staring vacantly. Theon didn't flinch, but let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding, in ragged gasps. 

Ice was coated in blood, hair, and chunks of flesh and meat. Theon eventually avoided his gaze, staring at the ground. Ser Rodrik cleaned the blade with a cloth, and strode to Theon. He quickly held up the wolf pelt, and cringed as Ser Rodrik pushed the blade into the scabbard. It was still stained with a faint tinge of blood, and Theon didn't think he could ever forget the sight of the man's flesh coating the edge. 

They rode back to Winterfell in silence, Theon averting his eyes from the sword he held in front of him. Visions of his own blood smeared along the blade flashed across his mind, and he worked feverishly to keep his expression passive.

When they reached the castle and dismounted, Theon gratefully pressed the sword into Ser Rodrik's hands, and turned away, hoping he would never have to perform such a task again. 

He met Robb and Jon, who embraced each other, gazing at each other with a somber dutifulness. 

'I suppose we are to be honourable men,' Jon said, though his face was still pale, and his knees trembled slightly. Robb nodded, biting his lip. Theon swallowed hard. He couldn't bare to be in their company a moment longer, afraid he would collapse, or his emotions would bleed through. He quickly sped across the yard, and hid himself in his chambers, locking the door behind him. He threw off his cloak, buried himself beneath the furs, and finally allowed his fears and panic to envelop him. Sobs wracked across his body, and he let tears stream down his cheeks, thick and fast. His eyes stung, and his stomach heaved, but he managed not to vomit.

A while later, he heard a tentative knock on the door. Theon lifted his head from his furs, and swiped furiously at the tears streaking his face. No one could see him like this, no one. He had to be strong, like his sister wanted, like a true ironborn.

He splashed water on his face, quickly wiping himself with a towel, and reluctantly opened the door. He stopped short as Lord Eddard Stark stepped into his room. Theon attempted to keep his breath under control, and stepped back from the lord.

Eddard sat on the single wooden chair occupying his room, and motioned Theon to do the same. He settled heavily on the edge of his bed, trembling slightly no matter how hard he tried to suppress his emotions.

Stark sighed, and looked down.

'You did good today, Theon,' he said, 'you were brave.' He stared at him expectantly, and Theon muttered a thanks. Stark nodded, stood, and patted Theon's shoulder, stopping once at the door.

'I know it's hard, being away from home, and witnessing such things, but you are strong, Greyjoy,' he said, before taking his leave. Theon closed his eyes, and fell back across his bed.

He would be strong, he decided, and he would never let anyone see his tears, he had to be a man of the Iron Islands.

He had to be a kraken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it! If you have anything you want to see in future chapters, please let me know in the comments below, and I will be happy to oblige.
> 
> Also, I apologize for the multitude of crying in this fic, but, come on, Theon Greyjoy is tragic, if anything else.


	10. Silks, Satins, and Furs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon discovers silks, satins and furs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, finally here's the next chapter, I was admittedly suffering from writer's block. It is not very long, but I am answering to the call of more interaction with Ned. I hope you like it!
> 
> This chapter takes place the day after the execution.

Theon shivered beneath his furs, huddled on his bed, his his throat burning, and his forehead blazing. He was ill, and he knew it had been inflicted not only because of the cold, but the stress, anxiety, panic, and fear he had experienced the previous day, and the majority of his stay in Winterfell. The image of Ice coated and dripping with blood, the severed bleeding neck, flesh hanging limply, the man's eyes staring wide and vacant like those of the wolf pelt used as a scabbard for the Great sword, swirled constantly through Theon's mind. He had refused to leave his room, and had been reduced to a state of bedridden, coughing and trembling continuously.

He refused to eat, he couldn't stomach the food that was sent to his room, not even when Robb, aiming to cheer him up, had brought him a small lemon cake from the kitchens. Theon hadn't the heart to refuse his eager, hopeful eyes, and accepted the gift, though his tomach churned unpleasantly at the mere thought of consuming it. He had instead crept into Sansa's room, the little girl was growing surprisingly fast, and he gave it to her. Sansa had cried in delight at the sweet, and eaten it within seconds, though by still maintaining a regal demeanour her mother had been teaching her.

Theon couldn't help but feel his heart flutter warmly when he saw the little girl spread her dainty cheeks into a smile, hear her giggle with contentment. Theon very much doubted his older brothers had ever felt this way about him or Asha when they were babies. 

Theon's body wracked with coughs, scratching and burning his throat, and he trembled, his arms wrapped around his knees as he lay curled on his side. 

He heard a tentative, though strong knock on the door, and he slowly raised his head from under his covers.

'Come in,' he rasped, followed by a succession of vigorous, irrepressible coughs. He nearly choked when Lord Stark entered the room, a look of concern plain on his face. Theon attempted rise from his bed, but Eddard motioned for him to stop with his hand. Theon gratefully collapsed against his pillow. 

Lord Stark took a seat in his wooden chair, and pulled it to the side of Theon's bed, his brow furrowed. 

'Theon, I...I'm sorry you have fallen ill,' he said softly, displaying a look of kindness. 

Theon shrugged, and lowered his gaze.

'I'm alright,' he replied nonchalantly. Eddard looked at him uncertainly, attempting to catch his eye.

'It is cold in the north, and the change of the season is nearly upon us. Pestilence is ripe in these times,' Lord Stark went on. Theon nodded, entwining his fingers in the furs. Lord Stark sighed, and leaned closer, placing a hand on his bed. Theon didn't move. He couldn't stand the sight of the man, couldn't face him. All he could see circling inside his head was the image of the man swinging Ice in a graceful arc to bury it in Theon's neck. He found he didn't care what the lord said, he would be his executioner one day.

Theon also remembered the tight embraces he gave to his children and wife, the tender kisses, even the small pats on the shoulder he managed to initiate to Theon. How could a man such as this, who held children so willingly and tenderly, raise a sword to him one day?

Then he also remembered the conversation he and Robb had overheard all those treacherous months back on his first night in Winterfell. Lord Stark's tears and broken voice, and Robb's promise of protection. Theon doubted Robb could ever protect him from his father, but he was grateful for the gesture all the same. He took it as a promise he would not be alone in Winterfell. He had a friend.

He thought of Lady Catelyn's harsh words and angry glares she reserved for him and Jon, her raised voice in the dining hall as she vowed to stay by her husband as he was forced to remove Theon's head. Her firm hand on his wrist as she dragged him to Lord Stark for a beating after knocking down Old Nan. The look of contempt and fury she held on her face as she lay eyes on Theon for the first time.

Then his thoughts wandered to the day he had spent in the crypts, alone, afraid, and trapped, treated with loathing and malice. He had never truly ventured comfortably out alone again after that, fearing he would meet the frightening couple who had thrown him in the crypts.

That night, slumped against Robb's coffin, he had woken to Lord Stark lifting him from the earth, his touch gentle, his voice concerned and bewildered. Theon had never been so relieved to see anyone before, and he was shocked to find it had been him who had given him this feeling. Lord Stark had carried him from the darkness, and, after fainting, he had woken again in his chambers, furs piled high over his body, a bowl of soup on his bedside table, and Eddard's kind, concerned gaze resting on him.

The same one he wore at that moment.

Theon thought of his own father, a hard man who he had never seen once at his bedside when he caught a cold, or had suffered a beating from his older brothers. He was the man who had walked towards his wife and daughter after he bent the knee, without glancing once at Theon, had given him away to this kind northerner who sat beside him now.

Something stirred deep inside Theon, and he resisted the sudden urge to cry, forcing down the tears threatening to spill from his eyes. It made no sense how his capture cared more for him than his own father, his son adored him more than Theon's own brothers.

No matter how hard Theon tried, he couldn't loathe this man, instead he felt a sense of longing, a wish to be of his blood, one of his sons, to be swept in the lord's embrace along with his two sons and daughter. He wanted it, he realized, he wanted this man to love him, to take him as his own son.

But that would never come to pass, Theon reminded himself forcefully, he was a Greyjoy, he would never be a Stark, and he was an outsider, an islander swept onto dry land. He wasn't particularly loved on his homeland, and he would never be a part of this family in the north. He would be caught in the middle, unsure of who he was, or was supposed to become, lost, and unwanted.

Unloved.

'Theon, you have been settling nicely here in the north, I know you and Robb are great friends,' Lord Stark said quietly, seeming to notice Theon's palpable distress. 'Winter is coming, and the north isn't yet suited for you, so I thought it would be time for you to remove your garments from the south, and find some new ones better suited for the north.'

Theon looked up, surprised, and stared intently, though slightly nervously at Lord Stark. Did he want him to become part of the north, his family? Theon shoved these hopeful thoughts away, though he let a small fraction of excitement tear through him. It was bitterly cold in the north, and the harsh winds tore through his clothes from the south as easily as carving butter. He shivered when he was outside, or inside, though he had a fire crackling in his hearth at night, and he knew pipes travelled through the walls of Winterfell with the warm water of the Weirwood pools.

He couldn't help the thought of him appearing more like Robb and Jon enter his mind.

Lord Stark gently proffered a hand.

'How about we can go down now, I'll introduce you to the seamstress of Winterfell, and you can acquaint yourself with the warm clothing of your choosing,' he offered, a smile tracing his lips.

Theon felt ill and feverish, but his excitement shoved it aside, and he took Lord Stark's hand, pushing himself from beneath the warmth of his furs. He shivered in the brisk morning air, and Lord Stark held him close, to warm him, perhaps, though the tender touch made Theon's heart flutter pleasantly. He managed a small smile, and allowed Lord Stark to escort him from his room, down several corridors and stairwells until they reached a single wooden door, the handle bright and polished.

They entered the room, and Theon failed miserably in suppressing his gasp of astonishment, which was immediately followed by a barrage of sickly coughs. Lord Stark rubbed his back lightly when he finished, the effort leaving him weak.

Theon had never seen so many clothes and rich fabrics in a single room before, much less his whole life. Pelts, silks, and satins line the walls, and were draped over stands, even lain carefully on the floor to be cut later.

No one on the Iron Islands owned such finery, much less wore it. Theon had never dreamed he would find himself in such a place, as dressing in riches was frowned upon, and regarded as weak, and pitiful. Men were not allowed to own bobbles or trinkets unless they were torn from the corpses they had made. Paying the Iron Price, Theon remembered, though since he had never killed, he had been forced to simplicity.

Theon ran his fingers along the fabrics, breathing in the soft, musty smells, tracing the ornate embroidery with the tips of his fingers. Not everything was fine, though, a lot of it was practical for the cold of the north, but much of it was fancy, and beautiful.

Theon's own clothes were stiff, and plain, devoid of color or design, merely made to cover himself, rather than live in comfort.

He suddenly realized he had been touching all the fabrics without permission, and these fine clothes and pelts would never be given to a hostage. He quickly, though reluctantly, backed away from the enticing clothes, and fumbled with his fingers, fighting the urge to run them through the plush cloaks on his right.

Lord Eddard gently ushered him to the centre of the room, the only place that was bare of fabric, and told him to wait, as he idly inspected an assortment of clothes.

They waited patiently for the seamstress, and meanwhile, Lord Stark was staring intently at each fine article of clothing. Then a mischievous smile spread across his lips, and he quirked his eyes discreetly at Theon, who stared at him with apprehension and nervosity.

Then Lord Stark slipped on a large cloak, and made a mock, stern expression cross his face. Theon's brow furrowed. Was he trying to amuse him? Eddard then cast away the cloak, and pulled on a fancy doublet with a silver trim. He pretended to have a sword in his hand, and cast his hand up as though in a duel. A slow smile crossed Theon's lips.

Lord Stark abandoned the doublet, and quickly slipped into the overcoat of a woman's gown, lace hanging from the sleeves, a ruffle at his neck, and a gold hem. A laugh escaped Theon's lips at the sight, and exhilaration sparked through his body. Eddard grinned at his reaction, and flung his hand up to his forehead and sighed as though in distress, his voice high, and dainty.

Soon after that, it got out of control. Theon joined in the amusement, and together they tried on different clothes, pulling on false identities, and laughing at the other's impression. Theon dressed in clothes that were much to large, the sleeves hanging far over his hands, his cloak sitting in a long train behind him. Eddard would garb himself in woman's finery, or in articles that were to small, the cuffs of his trousers reaching well above his shins.

They laughed, chased eachother, and Theon nearly managed to forget his illness. The room was littered with fabrics and pelts, pieces of embroidery and beauty scattered across the ground, or left in large heaps.

For a moment he allowed himself to forget the previous day, the blood dripping from Ice's blade, he forgot the man he played with was going to execute him one day, but it felt so good to forget, so sweet, and pleasant.

When he looked up at Eddard as he donned a frilly gown, pulling the fabric above his own tunic he wore, he couldn't help but laugh, and smile.

He willed the moment to never end.

Unfortunately, the seamstress chose that particular time to enter the room, and scream.

~

A week later on the morn of a harsh, bitter, winter's day, Theon was to go riding with Robb, Jon, and Ser Rodrik along the forest paths. He bathed, dried himself off, and went to his bed to find his clothes, and stopped short.

He saw the assortment laid carefully over his covers, and smiled.

It was a black tunic made of silk and satin, a gold kraken sewn on the sleeve. A pair of dark, soft trousers were beside it, and a heavy, warm, black cloak hung on his door, another kraken sewn in the bottom corner.

He ran his fingers delicately through the material, grinning, excited to experiment with the rich garments, appear comely, and feel warm.

He quickly dressed, his heart fluttering at the kiss of the fabric on his skin, the cloth smooth, and soft.

He walked outside, into the cold, and, for the first time in a very long while, he didn't shiver.

He knew it wasn't just because of the clothes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and the next chapter will be along shortly, most likely featuring more of Sansa.
> 
> Also, I know Theon should have gotten new clothes a long time ago, but I didn't get around to writing it until now, sorry.
> 
> Also, please tell me if this chapter was a bit too ridiculous.


	11. Little Cakes and Tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little Sansa is unhappy, and Theon steps in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, another chapter! Sorry it has been a while, I was a bit sidetracked. I also would like to say a thank you to all of you who have left amazing comments, you have cheered me to no end! You are also the reason I have gotten this far, so thanks for your support!  
> I hope you enjoy this one, and thanks for reading!
> 
> Also, I have muddled a bit with all the ages, so I am vastly unsure of how old Sansa should be here, so I just made her two years, nearly three years old to make things simple.
> 
> This chapter takes place a week after Theon received new clothes from the previous chapter.

Theon strode down the hall in long, careful strides, his bow and quiver of arrows slung across his back. Ever since the Old Nan incident many months back, Theon still couldn't shake the caution he forced upon himself when performing the simple task of walking. Even now, he couldn't shake the image of her still form resting on the flagstones, Catelyn's furious gaze, and Lord Stark's punishment. His cheeks flushed with shame at the memory, but he quickly forced it from his mind. He had taken to avoiding Old Nan ever since, but it didn't help when Robb wanted to listen to her ghoulish tales, and Theon was forced to accompany him. 

Today, however, Theon was planning to practise his archery in the yard. He was still uneasy with the sword, but he took pride in his marksmanship. Robb and Jon were busy sparring with their swords, but Ser Rodrik Cassel allowed Theon to help them with the bow. He immensely enjoyed criticizing Jon's abysmal technique, but Robb kept them both from tearing the other's head off. Theon soon found he didn't want to see Robb's disapproving glance or slight frown in his mistreatments of Snow. He found he felt embarrassment, or guilt, and he nearly craved the sight of Robb's smile or amazed expression when he impressed the younger boy. These feelings taunted Theon, but he soon found he did not mind them. He was fond of Robb, and found he adored having a little brother for the first time in his life. He also realized he regarded Robb as being his brother.

_He is certainly more of a brother than both of my brothers ever were_

Theon quickened his pace, and felt a twinge of excitement for the new day, a day he could spend with Robb, even if the little bastard tagged along. He passed along another corridor, when he heard a soft scream. He paused, and stared at the door directly to his left. He pushed open the door, and saw Sansa, a small girl of two years, standing in her cradle, her face contorted and flushed to match her flaming red hair, tears streaming down her face as she bawled incessantly. Theon cringed at the noise, her voice breaking, choking, and sobbing, and placed his bow and arrows on the floor by the door. He advanced, and, upon seeing him, Sansa slowly quietened. He placed his hands on her shoulders, and she leaned into him, wiping her tears as daintily as she could with her fingers. Even at two, she was showing remarkable signs of being a lady. 

'What's wrong, Lady Sansa?' he said quietly. He did feel a fondness towards the little girl, and whenever he saw her, he was sharply reminded of his promise of protection. The little girl gulped, and raised her bright blue eyes to meet his.  _They're like Robb's,_ he thought. She could manage speech, although it was a tad broken, and scattered with small inconsistencies. 

'The-on,' she whined, her words a bit broken and stressed. He smiled at that. She had remembered his name. 'The-on, I'm...all alone, I'm...' Theon frowned.

'Where's the nanny?' he inquired. Old Nan was ill, it was the cooling weather they all thought, and they had been forced to take on a new nanny to care for Sansa while Old Nan was indisposed. Sansa shook her head.

'I-I don't know, I...don't want to-to be a-a-alone,' she was shivering, Theon realized, and his memory suddenly jolted back to a very lonely night on the shores of Pyke when he was four. Rodrik and Maron had taken him, reluctantly, but their father wanted them out of the way, and their mother was visiting her own father on Harlaw, to one of the farther beaches of Pyke. They had walked across the small island, and the two older brothers swam in the water while Theon stayed on the sand, painting figures with a stick on the ground, and creating small towers. When the sun beat low on the horizon, and colours of scarlet and blush bled across the sky, Rodrik and Maron decided to return home, without Theon. They left him on the shores, alone, afraid, and cold. He didn't know the way back, and Rodrik and Maron were gone.

He had spent the night beneath the meager shelter of a broken half of a dory washed up on shore. He had hidden beneath the rotting wood, crying silently, terrified no one would ever come back for him, that he was abandoned.

Abandoned. Theon bit his lip.

The next morning, he had crawled from under his broken dory, and found Asha scouring the beach, calling his name. He had cried in delight, and relief, and flung himself into her arms. She had seem a little disgusted at the embrace, but she gingerly returned it, none the less. They had returned to Pyke by the afternoon, Rodrik and Maron had taunted and laughed at him. Theon had merely locked himself in his room, and missed dinner. He found he didn't want to face his cruel brothers, but at least they had not given him a beating.

But Theon remembered how lonely he had been, and how much it hurt to be alone at such a young age.

At any age, he thought bitterly.

Sansa's small fists dug into his sleeves.

'Don't...don't leave m-me The-on,' she said. Theon shook his head. He couldn't leave her alone, he knew too well what it was to be alone, and afraid. Afraid no one would come back. 

'Don't worry, I won't leave,' he assured. Then he had an idea.

'Are you hungry, my lady?' he asked courteously. She nodded, her hand grabbing at his own. He gently took her small fingers in his and let them rest in his palm.

'Then how about...' he gazed at her with a mischievous smile, 'we get some lemon cakes from the kitchens?' She brightened, and a small grin spread across her face. Theon felt something stir inside him at the sight. He liked it when she smiled, the same way he loved catching Robb's grin, their bright blue eyes twinkling with mirth.

'Come on.' He lead her gently and slowly by the hand, she was still very wobbly at walking, her white, lace dress tangling in her legs, as they left. He carried her down the stairs when they came to them, her small arms wrapped around his neck.

Eventually they made it to the door of the kitchens, a mixture of rich smells wafting from the doors. Theon set her down in the shadows by the door.

'Alright, I'm going to go in there, and get us some cakes,' he said, 'you stay here, and wait for me.' She nodded graciously, and Theon crept through the opening to the kitchens. He easily spotted a tray laden with the small, round, pale yellow cakes. No one was paying him any attention, and the cook was nowhere in sight. He sped towards the awaiting cakes, they seemed to be begging to be eaten, and he closed his hands over the soft goods. Theon froze. He turned, and saw one of the maids staring at him, a basket filled with clothes in her arms.

She seemed to be debating whether to shout about him or not. He quickly managed a weak smile. She unexpectedly blushed, and hurried away, her skirt swirling around her ankles. He frowned. That was a most unusual reaction, he thought. Perhaps his smiles were comely, although, Asha always told him he looked like he was about to cry when he smiled. He shrugged. She seemed to like it. He smiled a bit at that.

While swiftly glancing around, wary of the cooks, he drew a cloth from the pocket of his trousers, took a few handfuls of the small delicacies, stuffed them into the cloth, and tied the ends together. Theon slipped out of the kitchens, and, at the sound of the head cook's lumberings footsteps, grabbed Sansa's hand, and hurried her away. She stumbled over her feet, and he quickly lifted her into his arms, shoving the bundle into her hands.

'Don't let go of these,' he warned, and, together, they stole from the castle. There was only one place they could dine in secret and solitude.

He walked quickly across the yard, and, since he did not wish to unexpectedly find Lady Catelyn's disapproving frown from around a corner, or anyone to become aware he was carrying the young Stark girl, kept to the shadows.

Finally, they came to the steaming pools of the Weirwood tree, the red leaves spiralling from the branches. Winter was coming, he thought bemusedly.

He set Lady Sansa on a boulder so as not to get her skirts dirty, she protested a lady had to be clean, and he removed his boots and sat on the edge of the pool, letting his legs dangle in the warmth of the water. He unwrapped the cloth, and placed a little cake in Sansa's hands. She smiled, and giggled, putting the treat to her lips and taking small bites. Theon took one and placed it full in his mouth. It was sweet, with a touch of bitter acid from the lemon. He chewed, and swallowed, then reached for another cake, passing one up to Sansa.

'Do you like them, my lady?' he asked, swirling his feet gently in the water. She grinned.

'Oh, yes, I l-love them!' she squeaked happily. Then she frowned slightly.

'Should a-a lady be eating s-weets before dinner?' she asked tentatively. Theon smiled.

'A lady most definitely should, if her nanny is not caring for her,' he said amiably, passing her another cake. She relaxed, and accepted it, taking a small nibble.

'Would my lady like to feel the water? It is cold, and the pools are very warm,' he offered, proffering a hand. She finished her cake, and glanced at him apprehensively.

'Should a lady-'

'A lady should get to do what she likes, and enjoy herself,' Theon said firmly. Sansa bit her lip, and slipped from the rock. She removed her small shoes, and cautiously advanced.

'Will I not f-fall?' she asked nervously. Theon grinned, and, without warning, scooped her into his arms. She fell back, giggling, and he propped her on his knees, allowing her small toes to dip delicately into the water. She sighed at the warmth, and leaned against his chest, propping her head against his arm. He held her, his arms wrapped around her torso, and she wiggled her feet experimentally in the water, throwing up little splashes.

When the sun drifted further along the sky, nearing the horizon, Theon reluctantly lifted Sansa out of the water.

'I'm afraid we must go now, my lady,' he said sadly. They had finished their stash of lemon cakes, and the temperature had dropped considerably, the air cooling in the late afternoon. He dragged his legs out of the water, and shoved his boots back on. He placed the empty cloth in his trouser pocket, and helped Sansa with her shoes. At the sight of her small form shivering, he held her in his arms, and carried her back to the castle, hugging her close.

She yawned, and rested her head on his shoulder, her hands clasped around his neck.

He smiled. No one had held him in such a way for a very long time.

~

They arrived at the castle a few minutes before supper was announced, and Theon hurried to Sansa's chambers. He stepped carefully up the steps, conscience of her delicate form in his arms, and soon, he arrived at her door. He opened the door carefully, and quietly walked into her room. It was not dark, as the sun had not yet disappeared beneath the horizon, and Sansa was still awake.

He advanced towards her crib, and stopped, becoming aware of the rest of the chamber.

A woman rose from a chair in the corner, and rushed towards Sansa, wrenching her from his arms. Sansa squealed softly in protest. He realized she must be the missing wet nurse.

'Lady Sansa!' she cried, 'oh my, when I came back, you were gone, and...' she suddenly realized Theon was standing there, and she glowered at him. Then her eyes drifted to the small gold kraken sewn on the breast of his doublet. Her face lit up in rage, and she hugged Sansa to her chest protectively.

'You're the hostage,' she spat, backing away, 'go away, go away you ironborn savage! I remember the Greyjoys raiding all along the coast. You're the traitor's son, get out!' she screamed, flinging a hand at him. He jumped backwards, his heart pounding in his ears.

'The-on!' Sansa called from the woman's arms. She made small grabbing motions for him.

'Hush now, my lady, he will not bother you any further,' she said softly to the girl. She turned back to Theon, her anger flaring.

'Do not approach Lady Sansa with your filth again!' she yelled, 'get out, go!' Theon leapt backwards out of the room, and the wet nurse slammed the door in his face. He backed away, trembling, then hurried down the passage, forcing back the tears welling in his eyes. His vision blurred, but eventually he made it to his chambers. He rushed inside, closed the door, and leaned against it. He slid downwards, his knees drawing to his chest, and he buried his head in his hands.

Savage. Traitor's son. Hostage. Filth.

The words swirled in Theon's mind, and he remembered the sadness on Sansa's face as the woman screamed at him, her hand reaching out. His lip quivered. He thought of her smile, her sparkling eyes, her cheeks bulging with lemon cakes, her tiny toes wiggling in the water.

He was reminded of who he was. An outsider, a hostage in the north, not a Stark, not a kin to Sansa, or Robb.

Not a son of Eddard Stark. At least Jon had that. He didn't have anything. He didn't have anyone.

He would never be a Stark. He had constantly been a disappointment to his own father. He was not a proper Greyjoy, not a proper ironborn, his father always told him, a useless nuisance.

Theon balled his hands into fists, and held back a sob.

It was only then he remembered he had left his bow and arrows in Sansa's chambers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hoped you liked it, let me know what you would like to see in future chapters, and thanks for reading!


	12. A Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robb aids a friend in need, Sansa reviews her family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry! I haven't forgotten about this fic, I was away for two weeks during the summer, and then school started up again, and I was completely swamped with homework, I only catch small breathing space in which I can relax and write. I hope you enjoy this chapter, although it is relatively short, I know, I apologize, and please, let me know what you would like to see in this fic, I am open to suggestions! 
> 
> Also, shout out to WillGrammer, or Alex, as he signed himself, for giving me the idea for this chapter! I hope it lives up to your expectations...
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> This chapter takes place the morning after the last one.

Theon blinked back the sleep clinging to his eyes, heavy and thick, and forced himself from his warm blankets into the chill of the morning. He shivered, and felt his hand move downwards towards the side of his bed, to reach for his bow, but found his hand scrabbling around uselessly, grasping empty air, as though willing it to appear. His heart sank, and he rose to a stand, preparing himself for the day. He dressed in a plain set of attire, a black doublet devoid of decoration, and a simple set of grey trousers. Theon knew he would have to return to the nursery to retrieve his weapon, but he hadn't the faintest idea how to edge himself into the room without the Nanny catching him. He rolled his tongue over his lips in thought, and eventually decided the best plan would be to lie in wait, watching the door, until the Nanny vacated the room for obscure reasons that did not matter to him, and he could make a quick dash for it. He could not be certain she would not double back and find him sitting in the nursery, and, in this plan, he was submitting himself to an entire morning devoted to waiting, which meant avoiding Maester Luwin's classes, which would also land him in trouble with Lord Eddard, but, some things couldn't be helped, Theon conceded. Even so, the nurse would have to be blind to have missed his bow and quiver of arrows sitting calmly by Sansa's crib. Hopefully she would mistake them for belonging to Robb, in which case she would leave them be, but if he didn't get them right away, and she perhaps caught a closer look at them... 

 Theon sighed, and opened the door from his chamber, preparing himself for an afternoon filled with scoldings and a morning laced with impatience. He stepped into the corridor, and nearly collided with a fast moving figure. Theon stopped abruptly, and grabbed them by the shoulders to stop them. Robb's bright, beaming eyes stared up at him.

'Oh, sorry,' he laughed, taking a step back, 'Theon, Maester Luwin will be wanting us soon, do you want to walk down with me?' Theon hesitated, and bit his lip. What could he tell Robb?

'Er, I-I have to do something first,' he stammered, 'I'll come in a moment.' He moved to walk past Robb, but the younger boy suddenly whipped out a hand to stop him, placing it on his chest. 

'What's wrong, Theon?' Robb demanded, his eyes boring into his. Theon blinked, and mustered a shrug.

'I-I'm fine, honestly Robb,' Theon replied quickly. Robb shook his head, and cocked his head to the side.

'Theon,' he said, 'do you think I'm blind? You can tell me, perhaps I can help,' he said, without removing his hand. Theon bit his lip, and shuffled his feet.

'Robb-'

'Theon,' Robb gazed at him intently, his blue eyes sparkling. Theon cursed those eyes, they seemed to get to him somehow. 'Tell me. We're brothers, please, let me help you.'

_We're brothers._

Theon felt his heart flutter, and he hung his head. Would Robb help him? Theon instantly knew he would.

'I-I accidentally left my bow in the nursery by Sansa's crib,' Theon mumbled. Robb's brow furrowed.

'Well, we can just retrieve it, I'm sure the Nanny will let us, she's very nice, I think you'll like her,' Robb said happily, 'she's much more pleasant than Old Nan, although, she doesn't tell very good stories, but she-'

'She detests me, Robb, she is the problem,' Theon interjected quietly. Robb narrowed his eyes, confusion welling in his pale eyes.

'She detests you-?'

'Yes,' Theon sighed. 'I-I was playing with Sansa, a-and I returned to the nursery with Sansa to put her in her crib, but the Nanny was there, and she-she, er, screamed at me to leave Sansa be, and-and, she doesn't like my family...' Theon swallowed, and clenched his jaw. Robb stared at him, and suddenly, his face burst into an expression of uncharacteristic fury. He glared, and grabbed Theon's wrist firmly in his hand.

'She-she screamed at you?' He growled incredulously, 'she doesn't want you to see Sansa anymore?' Theon nodded. 'I'll tell mother about her, and-' Robb tugged on Theon's arm to lead him to the nursery, but Theon quickly released himself. 

'No, please don't inform Lady Catelyn,' Theon exclaimed nervously. She also held a sort of loathing for him, and was not fond of him playing with little Sansa either. When she caught sight of him with Robb, she seemed to tighten her lips into a frown, but Lord Eddard encouraged their growing relationship, he was pleased Theon had taken such a liking to Robb. 

'Why not? She can help-'

'Robb, just let me take care of it, alright?' Theon begged, moving to slip past him. Robb trailed after him.

'Theon wait,' Robb called, grabbing his sleeve from behind. Theon reluctantly faced him. 'What if I could help?' Robb suggested, 'you'll have to wait outside the door for a long time in the hopes she will leave the nursery. I could lure her away, tell her mother was in need of her. This way, we can still arrive to our classes.' 

In the end, Theon agreed, and they moved down the various winding hallways until they reached the door to the nursery. Robb grinned, and, with Theon crouching out of sight, he entered the nursery, lightly closing the door behind him. A few moments later, the Nanny emerged, alone, and left down the corridor, her skirts swirling about her ankles in her haste to answer Lady Stark's request. Theon quickly rushed into the room as she rounded the corner, and disappeared from view. 

Theon immediately found his bow and arrows sitting pleasantly in a corner of the room where he had left them, and, with a small cry of delight he couldn't contain, he slipped the weapons over his shoulder, and, was prepared to leave, when he stopped, and turned around, his gaze landing on little Sansa being held in Robb's arms. She gurgled happily at the sight of him, and reached out her hands towards him. 

'The-on!' She cried happily, and Robb grinned. Theon knew it was only a matter of moments before the Nanny returned to the nursery, suspicious and confused at finding the summon false. He felt his feet move towards the door, but Sansa continued to reach for him, her small fists opening and closing, willing him to near her. Theon eventually caved, and haltingly advanced, lifting his hand for her to wrap her fingers around. She smiled, and tugged tightly, moving the tip of his finger to her lips. 

'The-on,' she giggled, 'can you st-stay?' Theon shook his head sadly.

'I'm afraid not, little lady. I... Nanny, er, I can't, I'm sorry.' 

'Why not?' Sansa whined, her grip tightening. Her face scrunched as though she was about to cry. 

'Oh, for goodness sakes!' Robb cried, and, before Theon could stop him, he rushed towards the door, Sansa bouncing happily in his arms, and Theon close behind. 'It shouldn't be like this, I'm going to tell father, or mother at least.' Robb quickened his pace, and rushed out of the room, Sansa crying in delight, and Theon, panicked, rushing after him.

'Robb-!'

'It shouldn't be this way,' Robb replied firmly as he hastened down the halls. 'Sansa adores you, I'm sure mother will understand.' Theon shook his head vigorously.

'Please, Robb, stop...' They burst into Lord Eddard's solar, and Theon only became aware of the fact when he stumbled into the room, and immediately saw as Lady Catelyn, the Nanny, Lord Eddard, and Maester Luwin and Jon turned their gazes to focus on them. Theon blanched.

'Boys!' Lord Eddard exclaimed, 'Maester Luwin and Jon have been waiting for you, they came to me because you never came to you classes. What have you been doing with Sansa?' The Nanny paled, and she quickly advanced, and seized Theon by the elbow, her hand strong, her nails sharp. 

'I'm so terribly sorry, My Lord,' she cried, 'I would never let the hostage near Lady Sansa, forgive me,' she curtsied graciously to Lord Eddard, who's brow furrowed in slight evident confusion. She moved to drag Theon from the room, when Robb darted in front of her, blocking her path. 

'Father, she isn't allowing Theon to visit Sansa,' Robb declared angrily. Lord Stark's eyes widened, and, for a moment, Theon thought he saw as a hint of rage flickered in his eyes. 

'I don't believe he should,' Catelyn voiced quietly, her lips pursed. Lord Stark turned his gaze on her. She lifted her eyes, and glared at him. 'I don't want a Greyjoy influencing our daughter, Ned,' she said firmly. Robb sprang to his defence.

'His name is Theon,' he announced, 'mother, he's my friend-'

'Never trust a Greyjoy, Robb! Why must I keep telling you...'

Theon was released and seemingly forgotten as the Starks lapsed into an argument, the Nanny included, as Maester Luwin and Jon merely looked on passively. Amid the raised voices and the quarrels, no one seemed to notice when Sansa slipped from Robb's arms, and stumbled forward on uncertain footing. She eventually made it to Theon's leg, and she yanked on his trousers. She seemed unaware of the distress and anger surrounding her.

Theon looked down, and knelt to meet her, smiling wanly as her hands hooked themselves around the front of his doublet.

'You-you,' she struggled with speech, 'you're my bro-ther, The-on,' she said happily, meaningfully, and she giggled cheerfully. Theon felt his mouth go dry, and the entire room suddenly quietened at this pronouncement. Theon was intensely aware of the room bearing into him, Catelyn's glower shared with the Nanny, and Jon, and Robb beaming happily, his blue eyes sparkling.

Theon met Sansa's cheerful little gaze, and felt a sort of warmth penetrate his heart. He swallowed, and smiled.

'I am,' he replied easily, 'now and always.' She beamed, and flung her little arms around his neck. 

'I promise,' Theon whispered quietly, closing his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it, and please throw suggestions, or anything you like at me (please try to be gentle though, ;)


	13. Blood is Thicker Than Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon sees a familiar, forgotten face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyyy...
> 
> Yeah, this old thing has probably been forgotten, but...why not? 
> 
> Well, I hope you like it, and thanks for reading!
> 
> This chapter takes place the morning after the previous one. 
> 
> Also, never beta'd, so please greet spelling errors like an old enemy. ;)

Theon shivered in the enveloping cold, his breath steaming, and coiling from his mouth in the harsh, bitter Northern air. He crossed the yard of Winterfell, mud quickly coating the soles of his boots, and he shrugged into his cloak, as it billowed behind him in the winds of approaching winter. He had to make it to his classes, on the other side of the castle, before Maester Luwin had cause to be, not angry, never angry, but condescending, and deeply annoyed. He also really didn't want to see Snow's self-satisfied smirk one more time, or he was likely to knock it off his bastard face. 

Theon stopped once to calm himself. He couldn't rush into his lessons, flustered, and about to tear Snow a knew one, that would not be too impressive. He was, in truth, a maddeningly rapidly maturing child, his manner close to precocious. He always appeared to be sullen, and brooding, mulling over what thoughts, Theon never knew. Some days, Theon was fairly convinced the bastard knew nothing at all.

Never the less, each boy took careful aim to undermine the other as much as possible. A part of Theon chided himself for acting so childishly, and felt shame wash over him when he glimpsed Robb's disapproving glare. He hated that look. It seemed to cut him deeper than any remark Snow didn't waste time in throwing his way, before he flung it right back. Another part of him couldn't help but feel a twinge of amusement, to see the bastard taken down a few sizeable pegs.

Theon's thoughts gradually shifted to little, smiling Sansa, fire burning in her auburn curls. The previous day had shed a light on their close, growing relationship. She had called him her brother, in front of Snow and Lady Catelyn, no less. In front of Lord Eddard, Robb, and Maester Luwin. Even the horrible wet nurse. Theon thoroughly hoped she would be sacked soon, but he highly doubted it. Why would anyone care, if she was cruel to a hostage? As her departure was unlikely, he had made a solemn vow to outright ignore her, and visit Sansa whenever he wished. Perhaps after lessons, if Robb didn't make him practise sparring.

He had improved remarkably with the sword, it was true, but he wasn't as good as Robb, or even Snow, which, no matter how much he preferred to lie to himself, deeply annoyed and bothered him.

Theon would much rather smuggle Sansa into the kitchens than suffer another humiliation in front of Snow.

He was three quarters of the way across the yard, passing sweet and pungent smelling stalls, and heckling stall-keepers. It was the week before the solstice, and Winterfell had graciously opened its own gates to the public, to sell some harvest and various other unidentifiable trinkets before winter blew in from the North, and drenched the land in snow. Theon ignored them all, wishing to only quicken his pace. He was no longer ashamed to bear the proud Kraken sigil of House Greyjoy over his doublet, and embroidered in the corner of his cloak, but he still couldn't seem to keep their piercing stares from deeply bothering him. 

Theon pushed his feet forward faster, nearly breaking into a run. His boot slid sharply in the mud, and he nearly fell, if it weren't for a helpful stranger he crashed into instead. Somehow, this was worse.

Theon smashed into the large stranger's cloaked back, his form towering over him, even as he crouched over the healthy produce at a stall. Theon quickly gained his balance, and stumbled backward immediately, nearly tripping over his cloak in his haste. He almost managed to steer himself away, edging around the tall figure, until he whirled on his heel, surprisingly swift for so large a man, and caught Theon by the collar, brutally yanking him backward. Theon attempted to ignore the animalistic, frantic beating of his heart as he locked eyes with the man, but it proved to be a more difficult task. 

It was the Northerner. Theon instantly recognized him as the man who had, so many months ago, flung him into the Winterfell Crypts, with his crude partner, and laughed, barricading the door against Theon's frantic fists pummelling against the wooden surface, scraping his knuckles into a bloody pulp. 

Theon felt his legs go weak.  _Oh no. Oh no, no, no..._

Theon, never the less, attempted to assemble and piece together as much tattered and half-hearted dignity as he could muster. The man only stared at him, his jaw protruding, and grinding, spittle glistening at the corners of his mouth. His eyes immediately flicked to the proud Kraken emblazoned on Theon's chest, and he seemed to draw an unfortunate conclusion from briefly scouring Theon's dark features. Anger and recognition tore across the man's gaze, and his fist only tightened, twisting in the fine fabric of Theon's doublet.

'They've dressed you up like a proper, fancy lord, then,' he said softly, leering menacingly. Theon didn't cower, though he felt a slight trembling in his knees. He hated how his body seemed so intent on betraying him. 'A pig raised for the slaughter,' he sneered, his anger quickly bleeding into a wicked gleam sparking in his eyes. Theon didn't like that look. It was the one he remembered from their first encounter, the one he found too often in his late older brothers, before they involved him in one of their little 'games,' which usually led to him tending to fresh bruises in the privacy of his own chambers.

Theon raised his chin, and fixed the man with a withering glare. He doubted it would have much affect, but he was Lord Balon Greyjoy's son and heir. He would not but cowed into submission. Not again.

'Release me at once,' he said, 'or Lord Eddard Stark will have your head for mistreating his ward. You are tampering with a fragile alliance between the Starks of Winterfell, and the Greyjoys of Pyke. I do not think Lord Eddard would be too kind if-'

'If I hurried the inevitable process along?' The man finished, grinning malevolently. Theon swallowed. 'You're nothing, boy,' the man hissed, 'you think your daddy will care if you die? Your death won't stop him from attempting to reclaim his crown one day, from pillaging our lands and raping our wives and daughters, I can promise you that.' His grin widened, to reveal gruesome rotted, yellowed teeth bared in a twisted smile. 'You escaped once. I was careless. I won't be so careless this time.'

'If I'm nothing, why am I something to you?' Theon said quickly, struggling in his grasp, attempting to tear away. He just barely managed to remember the man's unfortunate brother, he mentioned having been slaughtered in his father's rebellion. _Well, a lot of people died_ , Theon thought, _including my own brothers_. The man had pulled him into the shadows of a corner, nearly behind a wall. If he could somehow get towards the light, cry out-

'You're my vengeance, lad,' the man said, nearly apologetically. He laughed quietly at Theon's pitiful attempts at freedom. 'Your family did me a wrong turn. I'm only returning the favour. As far as I can tell, I'm doing Westeros a public service, really. Ridding the world of another filthy Ironborn prick should earn me a Knighthood, if there's any justice in the world.'

Theon wasn't listening. He'd heard quite enough. He stomped hard on the man's toe with one foot, and kicked him in the groin with the other. The man grunted, loosening his hold slightly, enough for Theon to slip from his grasp, and thrust himself forward, plunging towards the light-

A fist connected with the back of his head.

He went down immediately, flinging his hands up to catch his fall. Another hit, and-

Nothing.

~

Theon's eyes fluttered open slowly, and he immediately became aware of a dull throbbing at the back of his skull. Theon suppressed the groan inching up his throat, and instead bit his tongue. 

His arms fell limply in front of him, and he was dimly aware that the ground was moving rapidly beneath him, a mess of dense greenery, fallen twigs, and rotted leaves littering the forest floor. A large arm encircled his thin torso, pinning him to a man's broad shoulder.

A panic began to flare in the bottom of his stomach, rapidly stretching out to tingle unpleasantly in the tips of his fingers and toes. He had to get out of here. He had to run.

Theon was suddenly flung from the Northerner's shoulder, to sprawl unceremoniously in the dirt. Theon quickly scrambled to a sitting position, though his head screamed in protest. 

'Stay down,' the man snapped, a sound like singing steel puncturing the idle peace of the forest. Theon glanced upward, to meet the unpleasant, undeniably sharp edge of a jagged dagger shoved into his face. The man held it a mere finger breadth away from Theon's nose, and it appeared to shake slightly in his meaty fist. Theon's mouth went dry.

_Oh god, Oh Drowned God._ _Robb's tree Gods. The Seven. Please help me now._

The man was going to kill him. The realization was suddenly overpowering, nearly crushing. He wouldn't die by Lord Eddard's Greatsword, high on a hill, his neck shoved over a bloodied log. 

He would die here, and now. In the quiet, and suffocating enclosure of the forest, the soft rustling of life muttering unobtrusively around him, a discreet, restless murmur.

The man would shove his dagger into his heart, or draw it across his throat. Either way, Theon would be most certainly dead, and his body would be left here, in the dark, for no one to find for days to come.

Maybe Robb would find him one day, out riding with his spirited filly. With Jon, or without. Perhaps Lord Eddard, or one of his men.

Perhaps no one, his body either eaten by a wild animal by then, or simply buried by the approaching, inevitable snows.

Who would mourn him?

The thought deeply troubled Theon. He would be in and out of this world, his death no great consequence. He doubted his father would go to war if he was found dead, he had been crushed in his Rebellion. It would be a long while yet before Lord Balon could rebuild his forces, and tumbled walls, and take up arms again.

No...

Robb would miss him, wouldn't he? Theon very much hoped so. Jon would likely be glad of his departure, happy to have Robb all to himself once more. He wondered if Sansa would even understand the concept. He doubted she would even remember he once existed, in a few months, or years, as she grew older.

Would Asha bother herself? Perhaps...Theon remained uncertain. He had only received the one letter from her on his name day, and since then...nothing.

 _She forgot about me,_ Theon thought miserably,  _like they all will, in a few week's time. I'll be nothing but a pile of bones and dust, nothing but a feast for the crows, and no one will...no one will...and none of it will matter._

Theon stared at the quivering blade, and slowly resigned himself to his fate. 

 _But_...

Theon was a Greyjoy. He was Ironborn, a fighter, a warrior, not a craven boy. His brothers would certainly have themselves a good laugh if they could see him now. Theon's cheeks suddenly flushed red with shame and anger.

_No._

He wasn't going to let this lowborn Northerner take away his life, as if it were nothing. Theon was a prince, and the heir to Pyke.

 _Your name is Theon Greyjoy,_ he reminded himself stubbornly.

_You have to remember your name._

His fist closed around a stone. Had it been there before? Theon didn't know, or care.

He brought his arm around, and flung it sharply into the man's face, catching him in the jaw. 

The man flinched away, caught by surprise, and Theon rolled away from the swiping blade. The man wasn't much good at finding his desired mark.

Theon quickly stumbled heavily to his feet, unburdening himself from the cumbersome flap of his cloak. He would come back for it later, he decided. Now, he could only  _run._

He sprinted through the trees, the man's lumbering steps never far behind. Theon ducked diagonally through the brush, twisting himself from left to right, just in case the man took it upon himself to fling his dagger into his back.

'Run, Greyjoy, it won't do you much good,' the man called after him. 

Oh, but it would, Theon knew, with a burst of relief. He knew these woods, he realized. He knew these trees. If he turned left... _yes..._

The Heart Tree bloomed before him, blood red leaves distinct, and brilliant in the dullness of the forest. Theon ran towards it. If he could get there, it wouldn't be long before he could manage to run up to the gates of Winterfell, run to Lord Eddard, Robb, anyone-

Theon, a foot away from the back of the Heart Tree, felt his ankle catch around a root. He fell, dirt filling his nose and mouth, his body bruising painfully. Theon groaned, and scrabbled to his hands and knees, pure terror welling up inside him.

He was there, by the pools edge, steam curling languidly from the water's surface. Limbs shaking, hands and knees scraped and bloodied, Theon forced himself forward, forward...

Pale fingers grasped at his arm, though it wasn't the thick, calloused hand of the Northerner, but rather the slender, delicate, yet strong hold of-

Lady Stark. 

Theon snapped his head up, blue eyes staring back at him. Theon didn't think he would ever be pleased to see Lady Catelyn, but in this singular moment of utter hopelessness, he was.

Then the terror immediately returned, gripping him with a newfound ferocity. She glared at him, as was her habitual greeting towards him, but the look was also laced with an undeniable frown of confusion.

'Greyjoy, what-?'

'Lady Catelyn!' Theon spluttered, dirt and blood thick in his mouth. He scrambled to his knees, his trousers already torn. She slowly took in his appearance, annoyance clear in her expression.

'Lord Stark gave you those clothes,' she said angrily, 'and you have-'

'He's coming!' Theon cried, struggling to his feet. She stopped. It occurred to Theon he probably appeared slightly mad, his eyes widened in fear. 'Please, Lady Catelyn, he's going to kill you, he's after me, he might kill you too! We have to go-' Tears began to swim in his eyes, unbidden, and stinging fiercely, slightly obscuring his vision. 

'Theon, calm yourself, tell me what is the matter,' she said firmly. If he wasn't half crazed with fear, he would have been stunned at the sudden concerned softness in her gaze. She believed him.

'Please, we have to run!' Theon yelled,  _why didn't she listen?_ Theon began to tug fiercely at her sleeve, attempting to sprint her up to the castle. Perhaps it wasn't too late-

The knife struck him in the arm, tearing through silk, biting hard into soft flesh. Theon screamed, and fell to his knees, blood oozing from the wound, splattering onto the grass. Catelyn stared for a moment, stunned, then turned her eyes to the man standing at the mouth of the woods, another dagger glinting devilishly in the light of the afternoon sun. Theon shivered, the pain flaring from the wound, a harsh redness flashing in his eyes, dark, splotchy patches. His fist curled around the hilt of the knife, but he couldn't bring himself to pull it out.

He blinked back tears, the encroaching darkness, and craned his neck upwards.

For a moment, it seemed as though neither the Lady, or the Northerner would speak. Then-

'Who are you?' Lady Stark demanded, her tone cold. She didn't move, as Theon whimpered, crouched on the ground by her feet. He was weak, so  _weak,_ it sickened him. 

'Leave... _leave her be,_ ' Theon hissed between clenched teeth. 

'I have no quarrel with you, my lady,' the man said respectfully. Apparently he had instantly recognized her. She only glared at him.

'You harmed my lord husband's ward,' she said, 'and you don't expect punishment? I assume you meant to kill him.'

'Punishment,' the man sneered, and spat, 'for doing justice?'

'The justice wasn't yours to give,' Lady Catelyn said evenly, 'and what possible vengeance could you have with only a boy? Leave us immediately,' she ordered, the words spoken as the true Lady of Winterfell, 'you have insulted my lord husband, and only shame the North with your violent actions.'

For a moment, a look shifted through the man's beady, flicking eyes, and his hand only tightened around his remaining dagger. Theon wanted to scream at her,  _why didn't she simply run?_ As far as Theon knew, she never held a great love for him, despised him, even. The man was not above murdering a boy of ten, why shouldn't he shy away from the thought of murdering a woman?

But...

He was a man of the North. A part in him, the old, fierce loyalty of the men of the North, stirred inside him, and his grip relaxed.

Upon seeing this, Lady Catelyn let out a small breath.

He was not about to murder the wife of the Warden of the North. It seemed the men of the North held their own twisted morals, but morals none the less. Theon highly doubted an Ironborn would have blinked twice at the chance.

The man, after a long, deep moment of hard contemplation, receded into the shadows.

As soon as he had gone, Theon allowed himself to be taken by the pain. They were safe.

Lady Catelyn unexpectedly kneeled, as though freed from invisible bonds, and gently managed to coax Theon to his feet. She led him back to Winterfell, his blood slightly staining her gown. He went to apologize, but the words only became a muffled moan.

Theon was never so grateful to return to the high stone walls of Winterfell, as Lady Catelyn supported him, nearly dragging him, to Maester Luwin's quarters. 

There was a bed, Theon knew, and a bottle thrust between his lips, a pale, white substance swirling within. 

Then...

There was nothing.

~

Theon slowly woke, his eyes heavy, as though covered in cloth. His head swirled with thick, sluggish thoughts, until he was truly woken by a dull throbbing in his head, and right arm. His hands lightly stung, and he went to bring them to his face for inspection, but the dull pain in his arm only ripened into a sharp flare of agony, and he bit back a scream. 

He was fully awake now, the room spinning into view. It all rushed back to him at once, the yard, the woods, the  _fear._

_Lady Catelyn._

_Pain._

Theon swallowed, his throat burning, and eventually became aware of one set of wide pale blue eyes, staring at him, next to two of somber grey.

'Theon!' Robb cried, his eyes sparkling with concern, 'we were so worried! Mother told us what happened, are you alright? Who was the strange Northerner, why would he do such a thing to you?'

'Robb, Theon is tired, and no doubt shaken. I wouldn't bother him with too many questions,' Lord Stark said wearily, his expression grim. Theon immediately felt raw, and overly exposed. 

'Yes, father,' Robb reluctantly relented. He slowly edged his seat closer, wooden legs scraping against stone.

'It's alright, Theon, father says they'll catch him,' he said softly, and Theon truly allowed himself to believe such a thing, as Robb fixed him with such a gentle, calming stare. 'You're safe now. No one can hurt you anymore.'

Theon repeated the words silently in his head.

_No one can hurt me anymore._

He would have pondered the phrase further, but soon, exhaustion swept over him, and sleep stooped to claim him once more.

He didn't put up much of a fight.

The last thing he saw, before his eyes drifted shut, was Robb.

Twin pale, blue opals, shining, watching over him.

The sky _._

_The sea._

~

It was a week, before Theon gained enough courage to set foot into the yard once more. He had been up and about within another day after the attack, eager to move out of Luwin's stuffy room, but he always stopped at the castle's great double doors. Somehow, his feet never seemed to be able to shift themselves further. Finally, after cursing himself inwardly, the bandage still thick around his arm, a constant reminder, Theon managed to shove himself into the light, into the bitterness of morning.

He avoided the stall and the corner where he had met the man, setting off into a different direction. Maester Luwin had eased his mind, insisting his lessons didn't need to start up again for another week, if he couldn't handle them, to Snow's fury.

Theon walked slowly, fighting the urge to turn, and hide back in the shadows, back inside the safety of Winterfell's strong, granite walls.

Instead, he forced his feet forward, swallowing the bile creeping up his throat. He would do this, he would feel better, once he got there, Theon told himself. Maester Luwin had even recommended it. 

Robb had been the perfect friend over the past week, helping him wiggle into his shirt the first day, as his arm flared in pain with any abrupt movements, and with the casual action of lifting. Robb had been close, with always a kind word, especially when Theon, on the fifth day, had attempted to raise his bow, only to end in a fit of furious frustration at his complete incapability of drawing back an arrow from the tension of the string. Robb had watched, as he dropped the weapon in frustration, and had instead swooped in, Sansa giggling happily in his arms, a sight to make even Theon, as miserable as he was, none the less brighten. 

Today, though, Theon had to steel himself against his irrational fear, and only quickened his pace.

Yes, there it was, the great Heart Tree stretching to the sky, groping for the clouds, twisted branches fanning outwards in all directions. Theon sighed, a sudden calm stealing over him. He didn't think he would be overjoyed to be back, but the small pools of steaming water were enough to calm his nerves at an alarming rate. Theon gingerly knelt by the largest pool, preparing to begin the strenuous process of removing his clothes, when he glanced up, and met the fierce blue gaze of Lady Catelyn.

Theon froze, his forefinger locked in the laces of his boot. 

'L-Lady Catelyn,' he stammered eventually, composing himself. Lady Catelyn had not visited him, or spoken to him at all for the entire week, as had Snow. Lord Stark had approached him every so often, to ensure his swiftest recovery. It had been odd, in Theon's mind, to speak with the hardened Northern man. In a way, Theon had only traded one fate for another more obscure, and less immediate one, but a fate all the same. Theon tried his best, anyway, to be courteous. 

Now, as quickly as Theon could manage, he rose to his feet, clasping one arm behind his back in respect, the other falling limp by his side.

'Theon,' Lady Stark acknowledged, rising, a bundle of cloth in her hands. Theon blinked. He couldn't entirely remember the last time she had addressed him in such a way. He thought a moment. No, hold on, just a week past, in this godswood...

Lady Catelyn started forward, her skirts swirling around her ankles. Theon remained firmly planted, uncertain of his role.  

'Are you much improved?' She asked slowly, as she came to a halt a mere foot away. Theon swallowed. 

'Y-yes, thank you, my lady,' he stumbled for a courteous response, momentarily stunned at the softness of her disposition.

'I believe this is yours,' she said, proffering the neatly folded lump of cloth in her arms. Theon stared, then, ever so tentatively, extended his left arm, accepting the gift. Yes, it was his cloak, the small, gold kraken sewn discreetly into the corner. He allowed the corner of his mouth to jerk upward into a timid smile. 

'Thank you, my lady,' he said graciously, hugging the gift to his chest. It was warm, and he had been forced to resort back to his old, salt stained cloak of the Iron Islands, the fabric thin, and unsuited to the harshening winds of the north. She nodded, then turned to return to the castle, only, Theon couldn't help but ask a small question he didn't know he had been pondering, until now.

'My lady,' he said hesitantly, the words nearly shying away from his tongue. She turned, and he forced them forward.

'Why were you in the godswood, that day, if you don't mind my asking?' He spluttered, wishing he had not spoken the words as soon as they had been uttered. She only blinked. 'You...only, Robb told me you worship the Seven of the South.' A breath. 'Have I misspoken?' He added, uncertain. Her eyes only softened.

'No,' she assured him, and sighed. 'I...I grew up in the Riverlands, with water all around me. I don't much fancy this tree, its a bit too...unsettling, for my taste, but...' her eyes travelled to the rippling pools, steam dancing along the calm surface, and Theon understood only too well.

'I can...sympathize, my lady,' he said cautiously, 'my family worship the Drowned God, and I miss the surroundings seas of Pyke. The beaches, and the waves...' he trailed off, uncertain if he had overstayed his welcome. He slowly met her gaze, and was shocked to find her smiling faintly. He had only ever seen her with that expression when she looked at Sansa, or Robb.

'Have you ever swum in them, my lady?' Theon blurted. A small laugh escaped her, and she pressed a hand to her lips as though to silence herself. She shook her head.

'You should, they're quite warm,' Theon advised. She only gave the smallest of smiles.

They stood in silence for a moment longer, gazing longingly at the pools, when Lady Catelyn soon announced her intentions to return to the castle. Theon bowed his head as she marched past him, but he soon called after her again. She turned once more, curious.

'Thank you,' Theon said quietly, shy at uttering the words, 'for...saving me.'

She nodded solemnly, and Theon felt as though a grand weight had suddenly been lifted from his shoulders. He couldn't think why.

'Don't stay too long,' she only said, 'they have not yet caught the man. He could return, this time, with a better aim.'

Theon smirked, and nodded, before she spun once more on her heel, grass flattening under her stride.

Theon soon returned to the pools, the sun winking innocently between the Weirwood's swaying leaves, the light reflecting playfully in the water. 

Theon only watched, and listened.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading, I hope you didn't mind it, and a huge thank you for all of you who have left your undying support, I am eternally grateful to you. :)

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading, feel free to add feedback, I'll take anything I can get, and hopefully the next installation will be along shortly. Thanks for reading!


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